Breathe Me In
by DammitDameron
Summary: An undercover mission sends General Hux into the heart of the Resistance to gather information regarding the rumors of a certain map, leaving him to stand toe-to-toe with Commander Poe Dameron. As they clash and fight, tooth and nail, past traumas reveal themselves to prove that, perhaps, the light and dark sides are not so different, after all.
1. Welcome to the Resistance

Days like these used to mean something so special to the Rebel fighter; the Resistance had reached out and recruited new fighters. A few of the more promising ones had been allotted to learn beneath the prodigious command of none other than Poe Dameron, himself. The first couple times he had been turned loose to fresh, new pilots, Poe had treated it like a ceremony of sorts. Early to rise, he would have numerous events planned out, starting as minuscule as welcoming the new potential squadron. Dameron had a lot to live up to with his name and he wanted to ensure only the best for those he would be in charge of.

But that all quickly lost its appeal. Case in point, the day had arrived again. Only, instead of meticulous planning the evening before, Poe had been seen down at the pub on base, enjoying the rarely allowed downtime. His current squadron knew when to draw the line when it came to Poe, and these new ones wouldn't. He basically felt 'on-call' 24/7 the first week of training, meaning the new pilots would seek him for advice throughout all hours of the night. Poe simply wanted to enjoy what version of freedom he could, while he could.

The late night also meant a late morning. Poe awoke with a start, bolting up in bed with a gasped, "oh, Force!" He scrambled to ready himself for the group he knew was already standing at attention on the tarmac awaiting his arrival. That meant he wouldn't get to shave. Or find decently readied clothing. To say Poe looked a mess would be an understatement. But it worked for him. It showed his more carefree, laid back approach to life on base. Sure, things were building out in the galaxy, things not so swell, but that was there. Here, he felt more at home. Or, the most he could, at least.

Hopping off the back of a vehicle, Poe finished shoving his wrinkled shirt from the day before into his pants, trying to at least exude an ounce of decency for this meeting. He could see the group shift from a more relaxed appearance to that of soldiers lining up before their drill sergeant. "At ease," he teased, his hand lifting to brush back his unkempt curls. "Ah, so let's see what the recruiters claim to be the cream of the crop…" The pilot began walking down the line of newbies, giving a stern glance to each and every one of them. "You lot understand why you're here, right? This isn't pilot academy. If you think you'll get a chance to fly one of /my/ ships and call it a day, you are sorely mistaken! This isn't going to a walk in the park, neither! You were assigned to me. And if you don't know who I am, I suggest you start paying attention."

Down the line, Poe heard a male mutter to the girl beside him that he was the best pilot in the Resistance. That curved the Rebel's lips up into a smirk.

"Damn right, I am."

Among the men and women lined up to listen to the supposed 'best pilot of the Resistance' talk was a tall male, thin and wiry. His head was tilted slightly, jade eyes - almost silver - tracked the Commander's movements with an icy gaze. Fiery hair was hidden, mostly, under a loose beanie-beret style hat. The frost in his eyes was reflected in the snow white color his skin and the chilly aura he gave off. A red eyebrow quirked at the pilot's response to a whisper. How incredibly unprofessional.

To say that General Hux had found himself in a Resistance base happily was by no means true. The First Order needed someone to infiltrate enemy lines. Someone who would not be quickly recognized, but was highly skilled. The ginger had pulled the short stick. He was hardly newly appointed to the rank of General, but was still vastly unknown. The majority of his involvement in the First Order was working on secret and classified projects that kept him out of the public eye, let alone the spotlight, and instead had him pulling strings like a puppet master. More, Supreme Leader Snoke trusted him to carry out the mission or die in the process. And that was the true selling point. Put an informant in the mix who would not easily leave the system when they were set free.

While Hux would give his life and soul to the Order - and in many ways already has - he was not happy to be standing in line with the scum around him. Commoners, rebels, distractions, worthless - all of them. The pilot talking was no different. But he was commanded to keep his head down and act his role well - pretend to be a new recruit and pull information like a torturer pulls teeth. With more finesse, of course. It was an easy decision, as well, to determine where he would enter from. The Resistance was desperate for new pilots, despite what the curly haired commander was saying in his opening speech. If you had any background in flying at all and weren't recognized for being on their stolen and out-of-date list of First Order members, they snatched you up with so much as a second glance. It wasn't hard, really, and that almost disappointed the ginger. With that kind of security and background checks, once their weapon was built, the Rebels would crumble without so much as a protest. The red beam of Starkiller would be the last thing they saw.

The ginger ducked his head to keep from meeting the eyes of his 'mentor'. Play shy and nervous - he could do that. He could pretend and act his part without hesitation. None of this was difficult. None of the mission would be complicated. It was routine. And he was a damn good soldier.

The rabble of potential pilots before Poe was less than decent. Impressive, most certainly not. They looked as though the Resistance picked up the first hodgepodge of nobodies that they could find. The Rebel Commander had to roll his eyes, fighting back a sigh of disappointment. Just once, he wanted someone assigned to him that intimidated simply by pure look alone. Was that truly too much to ask for? Nobody in the lineup even dared catch his eye. They were looking at their feet, off to the side; anything to avoid the scrutinizing gaze of their Commander. Which Poe didn't mind one bit. They seemed easy enough to whip up into shape. Maybe he'd be finished before the first week was even over.

"And what, might I ask, do you think you're going to bring to my squadron, newbie?"

Poe had stopped directly in front of a pale-skinned male, taller and thinner than himself. He slowly lifted his gaze from the male's boots, up his lithe body, then finally settled it on his face. This one, too, avoided his gaze. Shy, perhaps. Intimidated. Poe got that frequently, though to those who knew him, he was one majorly laid back fella. Darkened eyes narrowed on the natural disposition this potential pilot held; was that a sneer hidden just beneath the down-turned lips? Distaste, perhaps, lingering in an unenthused gemstone-tinted gaze? Something wasn't sitting well with Dameron when it came to this guy. He stepped a bit closer, getting much more into the stranger's personal space as he inspected him more thoroughly.

Hux tried to keep his head down, tried to keep his gaze averted, tried to keep his stance relaxed and open, but the moment the Commander stepped closer, the General's eyes trained on him. There was no way the dark haired man could know about him. No possibility that the dark eyes watching him with a fire could melt away his defenses and see the dark agent of order that hid in the false pretense of a student. To have someone of lower rank, more, to have a Rebel so close and defiant caused the ginger's instincts to take control. He barely bit back the sarcasm and scowl that wanted to be let loose on the pilot. Instead, he schooled his features, feigned a nervous smile, and responded. "Hux, sir."

He debated his answer to the annoying question presented to him. He hadn't had time to read the man before him, couldn't quite decide what the man wanted to hear. He could lower himself to be starstruck - the moment he even considered that option, his pride and loathing toward such rabble-rousers crumpled it up like paper and threw it to a far corner of his mind. He didn't care if he was undercover, he would not just roll over for the Resistance. The ginger scanned his gaze over his mentor. Golden skin, sculpted features, unruly hair, and piercing eyes. The man's muscles were mostly hidden under clothes, but the few hard lines that Hux could see told him about the man's physical state of being. The man had joked about his piloting prowess, so the General twisted his snark into a response.

"Well, I'm certainly bringing you a new hair color," his false smile turned into a smirk for a moment before he turned serious. "I'm here for the cause, Sir. Willing to put my life down for a greater purpose."

He watched the slightly shorter man like a hawk for a few seconds before dropping his gaze to the floor. This pilot, he already could tell, was going to make the mission frustrating. For some reason, the commander had honed in on him and, now, within the first few minutes of the operation beginning, Hux was already on thin ice. Fine. Be it so. He could play this game of chess, pit the dark and light against one another as the two kings of the sky battled one another on the ground. He glanced at the pilot, then immediately back down.

"Sarcasm should have been your answer, Hux." Did this newcomer truly feel as though he could waltz right into Poe Dameron's squadron with such sass and snarky comments? It made the pilot scoff, "tch," then start circling around him, eyeing him from head to toe. There was definitely an odd something going on with this feisty redhead...the lifted gaze that held such unhappy emotion that, also, quickly fell into an almost shy look… "Well, it would appear right now as though a different hair color is all you can offer me." The pilot's steps halted when he was standing in front of Hux once more. "Clearly, you are no match for physical combat. How would you handle yourself if one of the Order's brainless monkeys approached you and your blaster malfunctioned? Could you even throw a punch to at least make your opponent whine?" Had it been any other circumstance, Poe's eyes would have gladly scanned that slender body for other reasons, but those sort of thoughts couldn't happen in a situation like this.

A few of the recruits nearby in line sniggered, while the others, the smart ones, remained silent with their gazes dropped. Poe wasn't stupid; he knew there was much more to strength than just basic, first glance appearance. And where some lack physical strength, they greatly make up for it with their smart wit and quick thinking. This was merely a tactic of sorts. A way for the Commander to weed out who appears to be a sturdy brick ball but quickly crumbles under the first sort of pressure. To see who could handle themselves in an uncomfortable position. He was going to make a lesson out of the male if nothing else.

Around them, a gentle breeze kicked up. The trees set off to the side surrounding the tarmac shivered, sending leaves to noisily fall around them. That same breeze lifted some of Poe's unruly curls, causing them to fall in his eyes. But he didn't allow that to deter him. His gaze remained locked on Hux's expression, even if the jade depths didn't lift to meet his own charcoal orbs. "Tell me, Hux. Could you handle yourself in a situation surrounded by three, four, five of their greatest fighters? Granted, that's not saying much. I've seen toddlers in a playpen fight more ruthlessly than I've ever seen a member of the Order fight. The lot of them are nothing but spineless, mindless, brainless fiends. So, then again, maybe you could handle yourself against them."

The ginger bristled as the pilot spoke about his Stormtroopers and then challenged him outright. It was true that his armored-clad soldiers may not be the most effective, but they were mere pawns in a greater plan. They weren't even worth actual names - just numbers in a coded system. His hands clenched behind his back. He knew this tactic - had done it on his own officers multiple times. The rebel was trying to see if he would crack. If that's how the Commander wanted to play, Hux would rise to this verbal provocation with his own strategy.

He leveled his mentor with a hard gaze, frozen and cold. He had to be careful. Get under the man's skin and into his mind, of course, but he had to keep his own background and motivations leashed and held back. The recruits that had snickered at the previous words had mostly fallen silent. The gentle wind was strong enough to shift his hat uncomfortably.

He smiled, an idea slipping into his mind. He reached up, calm, to pull it off. "Could I handle myself against First Order soldiers, Sir? I would hope so. Muscle does not make the man," he tilted his head. The hand holding the hat ran through his hair, smoothing it, before dropping behind his back. "But, then 'handle' could mean a great many things, including, for example, standing toe-to-toe with a superior officer and forcing his attention to focus only on what you want him to see," his other hand tapped a finger on the pilot's still-sheathed blaster, where it had secretly moved to rest while he purposefully pulled attention to revealing his hair.

The collective sound that surrounded Poe had his cheeks flaring up with heat and his brow furrowing with offense. Of course, the moment Hux had outwitted the Commander, the other recruits all responded with an almost daring, "oooooh!" that weighed heavily with baritone mocking. Charcoal eyes flashed even darker, mimicking an orb of onyx as they narrowed into small slits on the redheaded male trying to outwit him. With a clenched jaw, Poe tried to come up with some comeback that would take the attention off of Hux and put it back on him. But, try as he might, he was rather impressed, enough to leave him speechless. And that, above all else, pissed him off.

"Take your hand off my blaster, Recruit." The Commander's words were angry and full of stern demand. What bothered him the most was how focused his attention had gotten to watch that slender hand brush through locks of hair that were previously concealed by the hat. And Hux knew it would quickly steal his attention. Poe's jaw clenched even more as his nostrils flared, then he abruptly took a step back and turned away from the recruits. Somehow, he had to regain control of the moment. If the others saw how easily manipulated he was, then they would eventually end up taking full advantage over that. A Commander couldn't be great if he didn't gain the respect from his squadron.

"The X-Wing!" He finally decided it best to just change the subject completely. "Should I pass you as pilots, will become your new home! And if you haven't had any experience flying one before, or even something vaguely similar, then you probably have no business standing here on my tarmac!" The pilot tried to keep a loud, attention-drawing tone to his voice, hoping it would snap them out of their amusement from the little mishap and back onto his leadership. "You will do more than just pilot a simple craft. You will be in charge of weaponry, engaging fully in battle, and maneuvering in ways you never dreamt possible. I have rules you must abide by!" Poe finally turned back around to face the mangy lot, hands clasped tightly behind his back. "If you puke in my Starfighter, you will be banned. If you break any piece of my Starfighter, you will be banned. If you crash my Starfighter, you will be banned. And by banned, I mean permanently. There are many roles to fill here on this base. Standing here doesn't mean you're qualified as a pilot."


	2. The Test

The smirk Hux wore and flashed each time his 'mentor' locked eyes with him was closer to a Cheshire grin than a sneer. He didn't care that he had to reveal his wild card so early - everyone, literally everyone, was thrown off by his hair color the first time they saw it. He had grown used to having to do things such as repeat his orders to new recruits on their first days. No, he was content and pleased to have knocked the cocky pilot down a few notches. A man beside him gently bumped his elbow against the ginger's. Hux glanced at him and the recruit gave him a smile and nod, whispering, "That was bold, man. I'm Rico."

He nodded back, "Hux. A pleasure."

The First Order General had long since tuned out what the Resistance Commander was saying. Green eyes scanned his surroundings. The Order had received a rumor that there was a mysterious map that led to something that could help these rebels turn the tides of the war. He needed to find a way to the source of that rumor without the dark haired man breathing down his neck. With that thought in mind, he turned back to Rico. The man was shorter than Hux with chestnut hair and hazel eyes that shimmered with uncontrolled excitement.

"So what made you want to be a pilot, Rico?"

Never, in all his years dealing with recruits, had Poe been so blatantly unnerved before. His words soon fell to silence as he adapted an uncaring appearance; hip jutted to one side, arms folded over his chest, and brow quirked in mock curiosity. With his attention now drawn to Hux after the little charade he pulled, Poe flicked a gaze over to him, only to find him immersed in a conversation with the recruit beside him. After a moment of watching them, the Commander decided to clear his throat to let himself be known. When he felt stares returning to him, he chortled, eyes once again narrowing in on Hux. This man was proving to be more of a nuisance than anything useful.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" The Rebel pilot feigned apologetic, bringing a look of shame to his expression and placing a hand over his heart. "Did I…I didn't mean to disturb social hour! Forgive me, Hux. Please. I wouldn't want to upset you." For a brief moment, his bottom lip jutted out, very reminiscent of a scolded child and he dropped his line of sight to the ground. But then a sneer replaced the sadness and the heat returned to his rather puppy-like eyes. "If nothing I have to say to you is too important, clearly you've heard my speech a thousand times before. Would you care to step up here and recite it to the others?'

A smirk curved the corner of his lips as he quirked a challenging brow in the ginger's direction, daring him to disobey. "That wasn't a suggestion, Hux. Get up here and give my speech for me." Poe stepped to the side and made a motioning signal at the spot he was just previously standing in, alerting the other pilot to step forward and proceed. "We're waiting, Princess. Losing valuable sunlight here." The Commander was going to make it his personal mission, now, to crack the foundation holding together Hux's rather porcelain looking skin; he was going to open him up and expose him for all that he could.

The redhead's amicable smile fell away and he glanced at Rico, then at his mentor. Was the man really calling him out again? Challenging him, even though the General had already put him in his place? Additionally, did he really just try and scare Hux by asking him to make a public speech in front of a handful of people? The ginger was used to that sort of presentation - in fact, he was used to speaking to thousands of people, rather than just a squadron. He gave a look to his neighboring recruits before slowly approaching the Commander.

"As you wish, Sir," He answered, turning to face the other pilots. He thought about his words carefully. How, exactly, was one supposed to give an introductory pep talk to their enemies without saying the wrong thing? He cleared his throat, shooting a final glance at the shorter man beside him - a last minute way for the Rebel to get out of this game - before speaking. "Today is the first step in changing the galaxy. Today you - men, women, human and not - stand against the terroristic reign of the First Order, an organization that does not differentiate between right and wrong, but rather slave and enemy. They will do whatever they can to intimidate the Resistance - to make you bow before them." He tossed a sneer to his mentor. This was his stage, his element. He was an orator, a strategist, a leader. Only after all of those was he a soldier. It was his job to control the masses and rule above others. This was no challenge, it was a bloodbath.

"To kneel is to retreat. To die is to give yourself to the cause. To survive is to rise and fight again another day until the last breath is drawn in this war. Sacrifices will be made, hardships come daily, but if you accept the opportunities given to you, work hard to perfect your trade, and fly into battle beside the, heh, best, then these obstacles and pain will not be made in vain." He turned to the Commander as he concluded, emerald eyes clashing with onyx in a collision of gemstones and hard edges. "Welcome to the Resistance."

That would become the second time that day that Poe had been silenced into pure humiliation. Of course it turned out to be an amazing speech; only a fool would challenge someone to go up against a hungover male stuck out in the blazing sunlight to a contest of wits and vocabulary. The rest of the recruits seemed thoroughly engaged now though as they cheered and clapped like Hux had just won some victory. Truth be told, though, that Poe found himself…inspired, in an odd way. Had he not already been well involved with the Resistance and he was approached by someone giving that speech, he easily would have dropped whatever he had going on in life and joined without second thought.

"Oh. Force…" Rolling his eyes, Poe had to look away once more. Twice now. TWICE. He had attempted to stand up to his fiery nobody and was quickly smacked right back down into place. The Commander was beginning to doubt himself now. It seemed at the moment that nothing he could do would deter Hux. Nothing would break him into a picture perfect pawn in the war. No. There was too much backbone with him. Too much… "You, me. X-Wing, now." He seethed through gritted teeth, giving his head a swift jerk in the direction of his own customized X-Wing. "You spit a mean game, Pal. You may have them convinced you're something special, but the true test will be once we get up in the air. Go."

"On your mark, Sir," Hux chuckled at the seething commander. It had taken almost no effort to bring the man crumbling down. He turned his back to the troops, giving his new rival a toothy smile - a Cheshire cat mimicking the crescent moon - and began to make his way in the direction previously indicated. Murmurs, whispers, and footsteps followed him. Truthfully, he had not flown in a while and he knew that he would have to remember the logistics of it rather quickly. Undeterred, he approached the craft. He glanced at the under-wing and the identification information found there. 'Poe Dameron'. So that's the man's name. The General hummed, then climbed into the cockpit. He very purposefully took his mentor's helmet and strapped it in place before the man could enter the X-Wing with him.

Perhaps the ginger was being petty. Perhaps he had put his mission aside to instead goad the pilot into a partial state of submission. Perhaps he really shouldn't be playing with fire when he completely expected to be burned for it later. Perhaps none of this mattered anyway and he was going to upstage Dameron at any chance he could get.

Hux adjusted his seating - long legs finding a comfortable position, one hand of the driver's stick, the other flipping on the control panel to check the readings. His brow furrowed. These were not the normal controls or the standard settings and steering. In fact, not much of the ship was regulation. Most of it seemed to have been taken apart and changed and built from scratch by a mechanic that deeply cared for the craft.

So that's how this was going to go?

"You can't beat me fairly so you put me in an altered environment. Clever," he whispered to himself under his breath. "And annoying."

The shorter Resistance fighter had to nearly double his speed to simply keep up with the longer legs the redhead possessed when they walked to the ship. He was beginning to feel at a complete disadvantage with everything; wit, speech, speed, size. So, needless to say, the pilot was already fuming when Hux had ascended the rope ladder leading into the cockpit. That wasn't what he wanted. Or needed. Any more advantages given and Poe might as well just hand over his entire squadron to the command of this sarcastic nitwit. It didn't help, either, that his cockpit simply wasn't engineered to accommodate two pilots. It was very much made around him, solely. Had he not allowed his emotions to get the best of him, he would have taken his chances in one of the trainer X-Wings that had two separate seats and controls for him to take over if need be.

Wedging himself uncomfortably behind Hux had Poe feeling more embarrassed than anything. It was like trying to jam an incorrect puzzle piece into a random slot; it just didn't fit. But he managed after several not so accidental kicks to the ginger's long legs. "Half expected you to be up in the air and back by now," he growled with annoyance, smacking the side of his helmet that currently resided on top of Hux's head. "Pendejo…" After receiving a helmet for himself, he simply sat back, motioning wildly for Hux to do something. "Really. All talk and no action? Have to admit, I didn't see that coming, Mr. Know-It-All." His taunting words truly were nothing more than childish, but he hated to be upstaged by anyone. Especially in front of a group of strangers he was meant to impress, intimidate, and command.

The redhead grumbled little nothings - half formed curses and insults that he bit back just before they could be fully vocalized. At the mockery, Hux took control and turned the ship down the tarmac, driving it slowly around the recruits who had gathered onto one side to watch the grudge match come to fruition. "All talk, Commander, is what led you to feel the need to take me off to the side and challenge me, again. As it stands, Sir, the score is in my favor."

He shifted around. The small space was obviously not used to holding more than one pilot. More, it wasn't used to having two men shoving and kicking at each other in pathetic excuse to get comfortable while accidentally hitting each other. Hux put an end to the push and shove fight they were having to, instead, be the mature one of the two. He pushed his weight against his mentor once more before straightening his back, leveling his shoulders, and acting professionally. More or less. He drove them down the runway, picking up speed until he could flip on the thrusters and take them airborne. He piloted them just above the trees surrounding the base, making sure to mentally map out everything for future battle plans. The Resistance had cornered themselves in a thick forest, nowhere to run and everywhere to hide and wait for an ambush. How sweet of them. They were practically defeating themselves.

A fear surged deep within Poe's body and rooted itself permanently inside his gut; they were in his own personal X-Wing. The one he had slaved over during any allotted down time. He had put more blood than tears into this Starfighter than anything and now it was completely in the hands of a stranger. One that he had poked and prodded and angered, threatened, challenged… All within less than an hour of meeting. He had never allowed himself to show such emotion to any of the recruits, especially not so quickly! His big mouth, once again, got him into a predicament he easily could have avoided. Poe blamed his father for that annoying trait within him. Kes Dameron was quick to defend his pride and put anyone to rest that dared make a mockery. It was only natural his offspring would get stuck with the same problem.

Trying to be as subtle as he could, Poe's hands lowered to his side, grabbing onto anything that could possibly keep him alive if they were to crash. And his heart was telling him that a crash was very much possible. Not only did he know nothing of Hux's piloting abilities, but he had rerouted his steering and his controls to properly suit him. It was so far from normal protocol, that not even his best pilots could handle his Starfighter, if they had to. Granted, he could use this moment as a teaching opportunity in the end…maybe that could help deter the other recruits from assuming him some hot-headed imbecile. Without meaning to, Poe's eyes began to shut as they were lifted into the air, and when he finally convinced himself that they hadn't crashed, he opened them up again.

The General clicked on his radio. "Anything you wish to see, Commander, or did you just want to have a heart to heart?"

"Oh, thank you…" the dark-haired man breathed out before whispering a small prayer in Spanish. As soon as he heard the radio in his helmet click on, he sat straighter, the best he could, and tried to recompose himself. "Huh?" Oh, real smooth, Dameron. "Oh, no...Uhm," regardless of whatever anger or sadness or heartache Poe felt on the tarmac, the moment he became airborne, it all seemed to drain away. The sky and the stars truly were his second home. And they had that comforting ability to reground his rampant thoughts and allow him a moment to just breathe. "This is more than just a challenge, Pilot. This will be your determining test as to whether you remain or not. So, I suggest you show me what all you can do." The Commander's words were much softer spoken now as he turned his head to the side, watching the beauty of the surrounding land stretch out before his very eyes.

The ginger had the nerve to scoff at the other man's words. A test to see if he could stay? Fine. "You already know my name, Commander, you might as well use it," Hux huffed. The controls were different, here, the space too closed in for a proper sitting position, the air too warm with two people forced into a place that should only hold one, if that. Regardless, the General never backed down when someone questioned him. He had graduated the youngest of any Academy graduates, ever. He was now the youngest General in the Order and the most influential. He didn't get to where he was by rolling over, and he certainly didn't get here by skimping out on flying lessons and mastery. After all, he controlled the stars with his aerial tactics and strategies, he had to know how to at least hold his own while flying to be able to win wars in the air. "Hold on, Flyboy."

With that as his warning, Hux spun them to the side, rolling them and spiraling them into air. He felt the thrill that came with being out in the field rather than behind a screen and let the adrenaline rush through him. Poe wasn't given ample time to boycott that downgrading nickname Hux huffed his way. With little to no proper warning, they began the ascending spiral. The grip Poe had on the side of his Starfighter tightened even more until his knuckles flashed white, not enough blood able to reach them. Dameron's jaw clenched so tightly that he was sure his teeth were going to break.

The ginger struggled for a few moment with the controls before adjusting to them and taking them through a few more maneuvers. He wasn't entirely comfortable behind the wheel. Wasn't really used to driving instead of ordering. Wasn't really used to not being in constant control and having his demands followed. But he dug down inside himself and went back over the books he read and practice runs he did while in the Academy.

The moves weren't exactly perfect; they were anything but. But the guy had style, Poe had to give credit where credit was due. Truly, he was not expecting any of the new recruits to be able to do any tight barrels, or a rather smooth spiral. The Rebel pilot could sense a great deal of hesitancy with Hux's actions, but that could easily be dealt with over the course of rigorous training. Had it not been the red head spitting words heavily dripping with sarcasm, Poe would have been greatly excited to welcome the pilot into his squadron.

After a few loops and dives and twists, the General leveled them out. He purposely jerked the craft, seeing if he could shake Dameron at all. "Ay dios mio," the stockier man breathed out after releasing his death grip on his safety bar a second too early. That jostle made his heart nearly jump out of his throat and he was prepared to reach around the male and right his wrong doing. But, when he determined it was a move made in pure jest, he scowled.

"Did I pass?" The paler of the two smiled over his shoulder, devious and knowing. His skills may be rusty, and he may not really enjoy piloting at all, but he still knew that he was the best recruit that had stood in front of the rebel pilot this morning. Pity for the Resistance that he wouldn't be staying long.

"If the test were on showmanship and pilot cockiness, then yes, you passed." Regardless, Poe was going to allow this man a chance to return the following day to continue with his training, but he didn't want to come across as too eager or too accepting of his decision. Sweat trickled down the side of the Rebel's face, slipping from beneath the helmet to get stuck on his stubbled chin. Reaching up at the tickle, he brushed it off and cleared his throat.

This man, this recruit, could become the perfect threat. He clearly had a brilliant mind that he wasn't afraid to use. His skills were, though a bit shaky, decent and could easily be trained into something lethal. Smart thinker, quick witted. A man like that turned over to the enemies could prove a grave mistake for them. And Poe couldn't allow his bitterness and his anger towards him risk that. So with a sigh, he nodded, though he knew the male in front of him could not see. "You passed, Hux. Good job." A simple truce would suffice, for now. Three times that morning he had challenged the other, and three times Hux came out victorious. Poe, though hot headed at times, knew when to lick his wounds and move on. And this was one of those moments.

The General chuckled - a low noise that lilted across the radio feed. Well, wasn't that delightful. The sound of defeat that clung to each of the Commander's words was a sweet victory. It was perfect and exactly how a Rebel should sound when talking to a leader of the First Order. Hux made a wide loop in the air, slowly taking them back toward the hangars. This was why no one challenged his rule and order. His bite was a bad as his bark, and he had every means to back up his words with action. More, he was a quick study - able to adapt to situations that would normally rattle or break lesser men. He simply shifted his stride and moved onward, stepping around the things he couldn't do and countering them with those which he excelled at.

It was, after all, just a large-scale, metaphorical chess match. And he was not afraid to put his king into play. On the contrary, he lived for the game of war and the miniature battles that made up the overarching narrative. This mission, this rebel pilot, this undercover operation, were nothing more than a part of the collective whole.

More than anything, Hux knew he should accept the victory and move on. He had won the battle today, there was no reason to push for a war. It was time to go back to being a recruit and keeping his head down and getting the information he needed. All of these things he should do. None of these things he actually did. Instead, he cocked his head slightly toward the smaller man, a smirk etching onto his pale lips and a glimmer painting his visor-covered eyes. When he spoke, his voice was less of a taunt and more of an insult, his disgust for the Resistance drying and cracking over each word. "For the supposed best pilot, Commander, you are easy to impress and please." Then his words dropped lower, the radio popping in his ear as it garbled part of his speech, much like another helmet he was used to encountering while he commanded the Finalizer. "Are you certain you would be able to defeat First Order soldiers?" He twisted the mocking question back onto the other man, spurred on by his own pride and small victories.

The anger that began to surge within the Rebel's body was a deep emotion he hadn't felt in a long time. His lips pinched up into a snarl so badly that his teeth were exposed, only adding to the menacing appearance he had going. "Land us. Now." Those three words were all Poe responded with, knowing damn well that if he were to retaliate, it wouldn't be terribly pretty. And truthfully, he wasn't looking to get into that much trouble so far. No other words left Poe's mouth as they landed back on the tarmac. Without hesitation, he removed his helmet and opened the hatch to the cockpit. Roughly, he shoved past Hux and jumped down with a grunt, not even bothering to fuss with the rope ladder or wait for help to get down. Taking the spare helmet he was given, Poe lifted his arm and threw it angrily down onto the pavement, watching has it shattered into several pieces.

Hux pushed the exact wrong button. No one dared challenge him on his abilities to fight and protect what he held valuable. No one ever dared call him out like that. Especially not some punk new recruit that had no idea when to keep their blasted mouth shut. Every step Poe took was with thundering anger, the rest of the recruits scattering to avoid getting in his way. He didn't look back. Not once. Not caring if the redhead was following or not. The way he was feeling currently, he would turn and land a solid punch right into that cocky expression. Oh, Hux boiled his blood. And he wasn't going to stand for it any longer.

No one dared stop him on his path to find Leia. He was sure steam was billowing from his ears and flames shooting out of his nostrils. No, this problem had to be fixed. And fast. If he was smart, he'd wait a little bit, simmer down and cool off before barging right into Leia's office and speaking through a haze a red. But then again, this was Poe Dameron. The man who lived on different emotions and acted accordingly. Finding her where he expected, Poe shoved through the door, barely giving it time to slide apart, then slammed a heavy palm down onto her desk. "I want him gone. He's rude, condescending, cannot take orders seriously, is continually trying to show me up. I want him on sanitation duties. Make him scrub the fuckin' bathrooms if you want, no me importa. But get him off my squadron before I estrangularlo con mis propias manos!"

-/-

Hux, meanwhile, had watched the professional pilot storm away, watched as his students scattered around him, watched as the man retreated and handed the ginger the trophy of victory. His cold grin was back, ice in his eyes and encasing his very being. Next time the curly haired Rebel faced him, he would know not to cross the General. He would know his place, regardless of how accepting he was of it or not. The First Order had shoved the Resistance into a corner, the king had been surrounded and the game ended in a swift checkmate.

The ginger hopped out of the X-Wing, suddenly surrounded by a few of the other recruits who had wandered over to him. Rico was among the group, a lopsided smile on his face as he approached, practically vibrating with his energy. Hux forced his features to soften as he hid his military persona once more. The small group bounced up to him, patting his back and lightly hitting his shoulders.

"Man, that was sick!" Rico laughed, hazel eyes sparkling. "Like, day one and you just wrecked shop!"

The General rubbed the back of his neck, his act back up. "Well, I mean, I'm not going to be talked to like that and just let it slide."

"And where did you learn to speak like that? I got chills, man. You should be a recruiter! I bet you could talk over First Order officers to the Resistance if you pitched them something like that," the brunette laughed.

They continued talking, and one by one the rest of the group introduced themselves and joined in the jokes and praises. Hux went along with them, putting his hands in his pockets and keeping his answers more or less lighthearted. It was only when they invited him to the base pub that his mistakes donned on him. He had drawn too much attention. Probably pushed too hard, if the destroyed helmet on the ground was any indication. He bit the inside of his cheek. If he was kicked out of the ranks or reassigned to another location, the mission would be prolonged and possibly a failure. The more time he spent here, the more he stood out. The more he stood out, the more suspicious that people would become. He followed the other pilots out of the hangar, determined to keep himself under more control - more militant and less obvious.


	3. What Have You Lost?

For nearly an hour, the angered Rebel paced back and forth in front of a highly unamused General Organa. With as long as she had known Dameron, she was used to these little episodes. Poe didn't like it if anybody outshined him at his own game, plain and simple. Too many colorful comments were made in regards to the scene that played out during his initial meeting with the new recruits. Poe had put Hux on blast, majorly, and when he finally collapsed in one of the chairs facing opposite of Leia, he was ready to hear what all she had to say about it.

"Give him time."

Alright, that was the exact opposite of what he wanted to hear. He was prepared for her to side with him on matters. But the way she saw it, Poe finally had an opponent that could match him on his own level. Too often, Poe came out on top simply because the challenge wasn't there enough. With Hux, Leia was sure they were going to pull out the best within one another. Much to the pilot's dismay, instead of Leia even once acknowledging anything he said about Hux that may have been accurate, she turned it around on him, scolding him. And there he sat, defeated and slumped in the chair, feeling much like a child getting reprimanded for tattling by the old schoolmarm.

By the time Leia finished laying into him, Poe sulked out of her office feeling very dejected and actually a bit ashamed for how he handled things. He barely made it around two bends before running into one of his closest squad mates. "C'mon, man. You and I have a date with the pub tonight," he growled, pulling the other male in the proper direction. He didn't speak up once until they had settled themselves in a corner, away from the majority of the crowd. With having his gaze lowered, Poe hadn't realized more than half of his new recruits were in there enjoying themselves. With him. But when he lifted his line of vision to put in his order, dark eyes connected on fiery hair and he felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach.

"Force…"

The ginger worked the room, gliding from group to group as he made a mental list of potential allies and contacts. He knew how to network and to draw people to him at social events - he was an aristocrat, after all. His entire upbringing was one gala to the next and one dignitary after another. He made snide comments and sarcastic remarks, his comments growing more pointed as the alcohol flowed into his unsuspecting peers' blood. As he moved, Rico followed him like a shadow, hanging off Hux and keeping a friendly arm wrapped around him. The General used it to his advantage, pulling the other man along and looking much more approachable as he went and expanded his social base.

"Don't look now," his companion warned, "but your favorite Commander's here."

Jade eyes scanned the room, landing on the hunched figure of Poe Dameron. That was one conversation he wasn't ready to have. He had already made himself too blatant and too much like a beacon. He needed to lie low and stay on the outskirts of the rebel pilot's vision if he didn't want another confrontation.

"So it is," he returned, taking a sip of his whiskey. "I think it's for the best if I just steer clear of him. Let him cool down before humiliating him anymore."

"I swore he was gonna punch that smile off your face today," a woman, who they had been talking to, laughed. "He was so pissed after you did your little speech. What did you say to him up in the air?"

"And where did you learn to fly?" Rico added.

"Nothing much," Hux ignored his human accessory. "We had a feeling sharing moment, I decided to meet his family, he decided to meet mine, and we hugged it out," he snarked in response, making his audience laugh.

"Isn't that your new lot of recruits?" The burly male beside Poe asked, both men watching the group chatter excitedly and carry on without a care in the world.

With a scoff, Poe rolled his eyes, "unfortunately. Pathetic, right?"

"I dunno, man." Rhys sat back in his seat as his larger arms folded over his chest. His gaze remained on the group, nodding. "They don't seem half bad. You had a chance to break em in yet?"

"Tch…" Leaning forward so his elbow rested on the table, Poe supported his chin in an opened palm. "Just Mr. Popularity over there," his pointed gaze remained locked on Hux. "Check this…This pendejo tried to outshine me three, Rhys, three different times. In front of my recruits."

Rhys gave out a short laugh, only wishing he could have been there to witness such a thing. "Let me guess. You threw a little temper tantrum, which is why you're sitting in here, pouting. Am I right?"

Dameron remained silent at that until the barmaid came to collect their order. Last thing he needed to do was lose himself in the numbing liquid again for a second night in the row. He would certainly need to have himself better collected for the morning, especially if he were to smack that pretty, porcelain face right back down to where he belonged. On the bottom, like the rest of the recruits. As four smaller glasses were set before them, each filled to the brim with an amber liquid, the Rebel Commander let out a great sigh and reached for one. "Bottoms up," he grumbled before knocking it back with ease, never once dropping his gaze from the red head striking up conversations far too easily.

"What do you think he's over there yapping about?" Poe finally broke the silence at his table after both had gone another round. "I don't… I don't like it. He's probably over there mocking me, don't you think? As if he didn't get enough of his chuckles out on the tarmac earlier. Now he's got to come to my place of relaxation and turn everyone against me."

Rhys couldn't help but roll his eyes with annoyance. "Ey! Ginger! Red!" he finally called out through the noise of the pub that was steadily filling up. Lifting a large hand into the air, he waved Hux over. "What don't you find out for yourself so we can get on with the night, eh?" He huffed, motioning a second time for Hux to come join them at their table. Much to Poe's protest.

Hux glanced across the room when a man called out what he could only assume to be an uncreative nickname to get his attention. His eyes ran over the man in question, sitting on the other side of a table as his mentor. He didn't want to go near the Commander. He wanted the opposite, actually. Wanted to stay away and not ignite another round of grudge matches between them. He had already put the Rebel in his place, already forced him to bow to the power and backbone of the First Order, and already come dangerously close to throwing the mission away because of his inability to stand down when challenged. He had done enough today and was now regretting agreeing to come to the bar, even if he had made progress with the recruits. He even got a better picture of what he was up against in gaining access to important information.

"Go on, man," Rico let the General go and shoved him forward in the same motion. "You don't say no to a Commander when you're just a recruit. Especially not when you're a recruit that pissed another officer off."

"Here's an idea, I don't go over there, pretend I didn't hear the guy, and instead just leave," Hux retorted. He didn't need another Resistance pilot scrutinizing him, but would it make him more obvious if he didn't respond?

With a sigh, the redhead steeled himself and slowly sauntered toward the table. He paused a few times along the way when someone else approached him. He kept each spontaneous chat short and kept moving forward, bit by agonizing bit. When he reached the destination, he put a small smile onto his face, reaching out a hand to the stranger. "Hux."

The man's grip was tight when he took the outstretch greeting, "Rhys. Good to meet you."

"A pleasure," The General stated. "How can I help you?"

Had General Organa not warned Poe to maintain a professional image when it came to his recruits, he would have had a few childish faces to make as Hux made his way over. But, instead, he kept a rather uncaring, bored expression to him, only lifting a brow briefly in acknowledgement. To avoid saying anything that would further get him into trouble, he reached for a glass of water brought along earlier and began sipping at it; slurping a bit loudly would be putting it more properly.

"Have a seat, Hux." Rhys had absolutely no reason to detest the new pilot, so he wasn't going to act unfriendly towards him. Whatever issue was going on strictly remained between Hux and Dameron; he wasn't one to take sides over petty concerns. "So, Dameron here kindly told me that you-"

Poe had to interject at that by not so subtly kicking Rhys as hard as he could under the table. "Look, what happened, happened. Pretty boy over there thought he'd try to outsmart me. Little does he know, I can make his life a-"

"- ceasefire, Commander!" Rhys cut him off with his naturally loud, booming laugh.

Poe's scowl returned as he settled back in his seat, arms folding over his chest. His eyes cut to the side and his knee began to bounce up and down in a nervous tic.

"Now, today sounded to be a rather rough day for the both of you. Poe, with just a simple nod or shake of your head, answer."

"Yeah, but he-"

"Nyeah! Nod or shake your head!" After Poe huffed and nodded, Rhys continued. "Tomorrow is a new day. Hux, I would kindly appreciate it if you didn't get my buddy here so riled up. You see, I actually have work I need to get done at night, so I can't keep letting him pull me to the pub anytime someone hurts his feelings. Think you can do me a solid on that?"

Hux had to steel his features as he watched the two officers interact. Dameron was obviously sore and sulking, but Rhys had an air of playfulness and inherent joy about him. Behind that charm, however, was something that demanded attention and respect - but perhaps that also was because of the size of the man. He was probably as tall as the General and probably also twice his size. He was built like a brick wall - one that was portly and soft around the edges, but, still a wall - and probably just as movable, were he ever to be crossed. The ginger turned green eyes to his Commander before looking back at his newest acquaintance.

The ginger nodded respectfully. Rhys felt like a military man after his own mindset - the man held himself carefully, even as he relaxed. His shoulders were straight, back upright, regardless of how he lounged in his seat. He acted like he owned the place, and for that, the General had to give the Rebel some kudos.

He was still Resistance scum and would bow or be destroyed, but, regardless, Hux was willing to give credit where credit was due.

"I apologize for making you have to deal with a moping Commander, Sir," the redhead sassed, causing a smile to appear on Rhys' lips. "And I apologize for him taking you away from your duties because he had a recruit show him up three times on the first day." His icy gaze shot to Poe as the man began to speak. "Look a the events of today, Commander. You called me out, focused on me to be an example for the rest of the squad, and then challenged me multiple times to try and humiliate me." Hux smirked. "I did not try to outsmart you. I succeeded."

Rhys' hand was heavy when it fell on his shoulder and his deep laugh was hearty. "Damn, Poe, you've got a firecracker in your ranks!" The man threw his head back, jostling the undercover General as he chuckled. "He's a player!" The large man smiled, but gave Hux a look. "I like you, kid. But help me out and lay off a bit, okay?"

Hux locked his eyes with Poe's, gemstones clashing once more, as he answered in a growl. "Yes, Sir."

Poe felt as though he should have been granted an award for how well composed he kept himself; even after Hux verbally lashed out on him like that. Worst of all, in front of his closest friend. That made the pilot seethe with unmatched anger and he clenched his fist tightly. But Rhys noticed and gave him a swift kick to the shin beneath the table to warn him to keep it cool. "Remember what happens to firecrackers, kid…" Poe had such a lethal amount of venom dripping from his words that it made even Rhys frown. "They explode into a thousand bits of nothing, then fizzle out. And just like that, their existence meant nothing but a pretty build-up and an amazing explosion. You're playing with fire, kid. Make sure you don't get burned."

As Poe spoke, he began to lean in close and closer to Hux with narrow eyes. So, with the last of his words, he scowled then dropped back into his seat, looking away once more. "Wow, alright, so if that wasn't morbid," Rhys turned in his seat, ignoring the moody pilot he arrived with to focus his attention on Hux. "Look, don't let Mopey over here deter you, alright? If you've got that skill, then you'll go places. Regardless of what piss poor attitudes try to tell you. Just…like I said, tone it down a little bit. You want Poe as an ally in the end. He's saved my life more times than I'd care to admit. He might not excel with welcoming parties, but at the end of the day, he's a decent man."

It seemed as though Poe was completely missing every little bit of positivity spoken about him and could only focus on the negative; his mind was too far shot for the day to do much else. So he scoffed, making himself known once more, "looks like your precious little girlfriend over there is getting a little antsy without you to lean all up against. It's not good to make yourself seem so desperate on the first day, fair warning. Friend to friend advice." He flashed him a smile, though it was more snarky and sarcastic than anything else.

"Let's talk about desperate," Hux retorted instantly. He was done with this pilot. Done with the cocky Commander who was certain that the General of the First Order was going to amount to nothing, going to be forgotten, going to be nothing but dust in the wind. "How desperate does it seem for a commanding officer to challenge a first day recruit over and over and over? How desperate must you be to try and assert dominance, even when you are beaten? How much insecurity must you hold to feel that you will amount to nothing if you can't outwit one recruit?"

Hux was frozen over, each word spoken calmly, but laced with a cold anger that spiked into jagged edges. He would not have this scum question his worth or power or abilities. Nor would he play nice if all the man wanted to do was irritate and fight for who would order who. The kings danced on the chessboard as the ginger sat across the table from the curly haired man.

The First Order would not be intimidated by this man. He would not bat his eyelashes and play shy and innocent if the man was out for blood. He wanted a battle? Hux would give him a fucking war.

"How desperate you are to be known and remembered, to have your name written in the stars, to have everyone starstruck over you, Poe Dameron, if one recruit can bring you to your knees," the General growled out.

"No, he didn't," Rhys muttered under his breath, feeling utterly useless at playing devil's advocate at this point. So, he stood. If the two wanted to duke it out and beat the other to a bloody pulp, well, it's been too long since the pub saw a good brawl. "By the time I return with my drink, you two better have kissed and made up or I swear to all things Force, I will beat you both senseless myself." And, like that, the larger male was gone.

The Rebel Commander was thrumming with anger that seemed to nearly pour out of every pore on his body. His leg now bounced uncontrollably up and down, his fists clenched so tightly that they flashed white once more, highly reminiscent of the grip he had earlier during the flight. Poe had never once questioned Leia's motives or fought her on a decision, but he just could not understand how she thought that the two of them would ever make a good match. Both were obviously too outspoken for their own good, and both seemed to have problems remembering their place in the greater scheme of things. Regardless, he couldn't just sit there and allow this nobody to talk so ruthlessly to him. To speak so degradingly and treat him like he's lower than a speck of dirt beneath his boot. No. Poe couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer. To hell with professionalism.

"You know what I challenged you, you whine-ass? To see if you had the balls to be here! Coming in here with your goddamn nose stuck in the air so high that if it were to rain, you would drown. You think I singled you out for any specific reason? Well, I sure the fuck did. That's not called desperation, pal. It's called weeding out the weak from the strong. You may have outwitted me in one tiny little aspect on your first day, but that does not mean one bit that I feel threatened by you or that you left me with insecurities. You are nothing, recruit. You here me? Nothing. I don't give a shit what kind of home life you came from. I don't care if you shat gold while eating the greatest delicacies in the galaxy. I don't care if you thought yourself to be the greatest pilot of your own damn hunk of bolts and metal. Here, you are NOTHING. Not until I am through with you. And then maybe, JUST MAYBE, you'll have a decent strain of pilot inside you. And just so you know, pretty boy, my name has been written in the stars more times than I can count. It will be a name that you remember until you take your last damn breath. I don't need anybody starstruck over me, kid. And I sure as hell will never drop to my knees for you. If that doesn't fly with you, then you can take your crying ass back to whatever no good little planet you hail from."

Hux smirked at the words instead of sneering. Check, Dameron. "Keep in mind, Poe, that I am the nothing that had riled you up to the point of breaking. You sit here before me, Commander, wrapped around my finger as I play your anger like a violin." He leaned forward slightly. "Do you feel powerful, now? Do you believe yourself to be the alpha? Have you asserted dominance?"

Despite his words, the ginger was bristling and crackling. Poe was walking on thin ice - while he was not going to reveal anything, was not going to blow his mission and his true status, he would not back down now. Nor would he allow the pilot to bow out gracefully, either. He would run the rebel into the ground, clip his wings and keep him landed forever. By the end of his time here, Dameron would understand that he could not control the ginger, could not defeat him in any means.

It was like this - the Resistance pilot could play in the clouds all he wanted, hop from poof to poof and make believe that he was the king of the skies. Hux ruled the stars. He would not bend. He would not bow. He would not break. He would match the pilot step for step. He would make Dameron fall in line.

The ginger hummed. "Or have you realized that you are less than this 'nothing'?"

Poe wanted to sink his fist into the pretty face so badly. It was like an itch buried deep inside his knuckles that began to spread throughout his hand, up his arm, and throughout his body. He was never one for brute physical violence like senseless fist fighting, a firm believer that such energy and passion could be honed it to better use in battle, but boy, oh, boy did he just want to shut him up. "I am not less than you," was his simple answer, his heated onyx eyes locking firmly on the jade ones before him. Slowly, the tremble in his knee began to lessen and his fists began to relax. "I'm sure wherever you come from, you aren't terribly missed, are you?" Now his voice was much softer, almost melodic as it pried deeper into the cracks he was so desperately trying to get to with Hux.

"No, you're so used to being someone's bitch, aren't you. You were an absolute nobody in your past doings. Probably some refresher cleaner. If even that…" His head tipped to the other side as his lips spread into the tiniest smile. "It sucks to be a nobody, doesn't it? Seeing all of us that actually mean something in life. Those of us that actually serve a purpose…I get it now." His smile continued to grow in the most mocking way that it possibly could. "You thought you would come in here, make yourself seem all big and bad and just step right up into a position of worthiness. Cute, Hux…I admire your spunk. But, you'll never be a somebody. Nobodies like you will forever remain…A nobody."

Everything about the ginger suddenly steeled, his eyes flashing almost silver in the lighting around them. He went completely still for a long moment before suddenly snapping straight, all his focus shooting back into his military persona. The people around them has started to grow quiet and shift away from the arguing officers. Hux's smirk dropped away, one brow quirking upward as his lip curled.

"Where I came from, Poe, would not be in existence without me and I am nobody's bitch," he sneered, sitting at his full height to literally and figuratively look down on the pilot. "I didn't come here looking for a Commander who projected his own tales of woe and his own self issues onto his recruits. I was hoping that Resistance leaders would be too sure of themselves for such petty deflection and defenses." He paused, head tilting, reading the other man, scouring for clues and hints in his body language and his words. "Tell me, Pilot, what are you afraid of? Not being good enough? Your cockiness would certainly be a good means of over-compensation. Being replaced? Your brazen attitude toward challenges and your inability to accept defeat would attest to that. Or perhaps something else. You don't like defeat. Which would mean you're afraid to admit that you have lost." Hux stopped, understanding dawning on his expression. He smirked. "What have you lost, Dameron?"


	4. This Is Your Starfighter

The emotion that washed through the Rebel's body had him torn in many different directions. Though it felt like an icy cold chill was traveling down his spine, his flesh had never felt more heated in all his life. His jaw clenched with such power that he trembled. But, for once, he was at a loss of words. Oh, he had lost plenty leading up to this point. But no one ever dared make mention of it. Those around him knew better. There had been a dark depth in Poe's life that he had to force his way out of. And even though he knew the recruit knew nothing about it, he still couldn't help but feel as though Hux had reached into his chest, gripped his heart, and ripped it out.

Rhys appeared the moment Poe stood abruptly from his seat. He dropped the glass to the floor, causing it to shatter noisily, and further adding to the silence already consuming the pub. He had overhead the last bit of what Hux had said, but he knew it to be enough. So before Poe could launch himself at the ginger, he began shoving the Commander towards the exit. "GO! Dammit, just leave! Get out of here!" He yelled, struggling with a livid pilot. When Poe finally had enough, he stormed out on his own, needing to get away from everyone possible.

Rhys turned once more and approached Hux, though not out of the same anger Poe had. "Look, you're new here, kid. But you could have easily been the better man and said enough is enough. Words cut deeper than a knife sometimes, and you just opened a wound in him that didn't need to be touched. I suggest you keep your head down and stay out of his way tomorrow, regardless of what he comes up with. Be the better man, Hux," he reiterated, sounding more like a lecturing parent now than anything.

The General nodded at Rhys words of caution, but kept his defenses raised. He hardly felt bad for the cocky pilot. They were waging a war. What did he expect? Losses were as common as leaves on a tree. They happened every day. If a soldier could not accept loss, then their days were already numbered. The guilt and doubt and sorrow for a lost pawn could overwhelm and push people to rash decisions. But if the Commander wanted to hold onto lives lost in battle, so be it. The redhead made a mental note of his weakness for future reference before turning on his heel and striding back to Rico.

"Yo, man, that four times you've bumped shoulders in a few hours," the recruit said upon his approach. "That's hard core."

"And unnecessary. And inconvenient. And, frankly, a waste of my time," the ginger snapped. The pub was still hushed. "I'm going to bed. Have a wonderful night," he stated to his false peers. "Cheers."

With that, Hux left. When he was finally away from prying eyes and nervous smiles and could no longer hear the eager, energetic words coming from the bar, the ginger lashed out. His fist collided with the stone wall a few times in his anger. Reckless. He had been reckless and conspicuous. He had practically painted a target on himself and stepped in front of a firing squad. He had kept a cool, unfaltering facade as the pilot tried to pick him apart, but the truth was that he had struck too close to home. He triggered Hux's defenses and the need to deflect attention elsewhere. That damn Commander had stirred memories of a time not-too-long ago.

He sighed and looked down at his bloodied knuckles. Upon his return to his shared, barrack-style room, he make quick work cleaning and bandaging his hand before falling into a fitful sleep.

Back in his quarters, Poe did everything but settle down. His small bookshelf was his first victim; with a swipe of his severely shaking hands, everything residing on the shelves ended up messily on the floor. Then with a great yell, he turned, landing one solid punch against the wall. No damage befell the sturdy establishment, but the pain reverberating through a now bloody and swollen knuckle helped calm the irate pilot down immensely. As he dropped down onto the small loveseat his private quarters had, he fought back a heavy sob. No, he wouldn't allow Hux to dig underneath his skin like that. He couldn't allow himself to be reduced to a crying, pathetic mess. Not after one day, no.

But what has he lost? He's lost plenty. Growing up and raised to be a fighter, he learned to accept his loses and move on with life. Poe was a child of the Resistance. He's seen friends come and go. He's been forced to handle death at a very young age. But what he lost, he wasn't prepared for. It wasn't a downfall of a war. It wasn't a loss associated with any fighting. It was simple life's cruel humor once again reminding him that nothing was permanent. That there was nothing worth holding onto and developing happiness for. Poe lost a lot. And he refused to let anyone use that against him.

The Rebel fighter hadn't meant to succumb to his exhaustion right there on the tiny sofa, no blankets and no pillows for him to use, but it happened regardless. As he woke the next morning, still clad in yesterday's attire, boots and all, he sat up with a pained groan. The crick in his neck felt as though someone had jammed a blade right into his muscle, making it impossible to move his head. His body ached from remaining curled up on the two cushions offered by the piece of furniture, but worst of all, his knuckles had a constant heavy throb to them. He knew he was late. Again. But this time, he didn't care. To have to deal with Hux when he was still battling the escaped demons in his mind made him want to curl up in bed and hide forever, but he knew that wasn't an option. So he slowly trudged his way into his refresher and stripped down, needing a good, long shower.

Hux, meanwhile, had awoken before any of the other recruits. He was used to having to be awake and ready within a moment's notice as urgent messages and requests for his presence lit up his datapad. He stayed in his horribly hard and bumpy bed for only a few moments before he couldn't stand the feeling of something that managed to be less comfortable than military-grade furniture. He took a quick shower in the dark and dressed. He wanted his uniform back. Wanted the status that came with it and the lack of annoying Commanders who questioned his authority and rank with every breath. When he slipped into the hallway - dressed in loose, black pants were held to him by a simple belt and the light grey shirt given to him by the Resistance that hung from him, the sleeves too long and fell just past his knuckles - he looked down at his injured hand. He tested the movements, wincing at the pain it produced. Nothing was broken, that much he could tell, but the ginger made a mental note to, next time, lash out at something that was actually movable.

He ate a small breakfast, nothing more than a fruit bowl he found in the main mess hall, and sat alone in the hangar to watch the sunrise. Footsteps approached him and jade eyes turned to greet the pilot from the night before - Rhys. They chatted, even though Hux had never seen the point in small talk. A hand suddenly rested on his shoulder and the General had to fight the urge to move away. He wasn't used to people approaching him without fear, let alone being touched in any manner.

"You're crazy you know that, Red?" Rhys stated.

Hux wanted to tear the nickname from the man's mind and shatter it before ever being referred to in such a way again. "I've heard," he responded instead.

"Look, man, all I'm saying is that Poe's a great guy, he is. But, wow, you messed up last night. Just, for your sake, keep your head down today. Eyes to the floor. And don't rile him up," the pilot shook him when he didn't answer quickly enough.

"No promises," the ginger's answer got him a light knock to the head and a chuckle as the other recruits began to file in and wait for Dameron to make an appearance.

There was no breakfast to be consumed. No idle chitchat to brighten his morning. Poe barely touched the coffee he had sitting on his small kitchenette counter, steaming away with not a care in the world. He moved about his small, private living space like that of a robot. No emotion reached his features and he paid absolutely no mind to what clothes he wore for the day; though he did manage to actually pick something clean this time. His stubble had been razored away to nothing, but he did nothing to tame his black curls that hung, unkempt, in dull eyes. What Hux said hurt and Poe simply couldn't shake that unnerving feeling. As he made his way down corridors, he kept his head hanging low. The jacket he wore covered enough of his knuckles so that the injury wouldn't be terribly noticeable unless someone searched for it. As people passed, they offered him kind "good morning, Commander"s, but he could barely mutter a response.

Stepping into the hangar bay, he knew he was late. Much later than his appearance the morning before. This time, there was no pep in his step. No hustle in his movements. Those who didn't step out of his way in time simply got bumped into with a muttered, "sorry" from his down turned lips. He didn't do it to be mean, but simply because he didn't look up in time to avoid the collision. Approaching his recruits, his gaze didn't lift to acknowledge them, nor did he seek out the fiery recruit that put him in such a funk. Instead, he walked past them and motioned with his head for them to follow.

"An, uh.. An important part of being a pilot is to know your craft both inside and out."

The previous day, he had let his emotions swell up to the point of blinding anger and had failed tremendously at being a good Commander and instructor. One recruit, unfortunately, received all his attention that day as though the others weren't even there. He couldn't allow it to happen again this day, so he spoke to them all as one single unit. There'd be no singling anybody out.

"So, as a Rebel pilot, your main craft is the, um.. X-Wing. It's.. It's a good Starfighter."

His words held no interest, though he tried hard to force himself to care. His mind, however, refused to let go of that disheartening question from the night before.

A sick sense of pride settled inside of Hux as he watched the Resistance pilot. The man was tired, worn down, utterly defeated. How had one question done this? The General was good at reading people, good at picking them apart in a way that rivaled that of Snoke's apprentice, but without the need for magic tricks and dramatic entrances. He glanced across the hangar to where the other Commander was working on his own ship, lost to the world except when he would look at Poe, obviously worried for his friend.

Around him, recruits nodded at every word that Dameron spoke, eager and awestruck. Hux couldn't care less as the man rattled off facts that he was simply using to fill the void of silence. The passion from yesterday was gone, the pushed enthusiasm completely extinguished.

What had he lost that made him break?

The ginger turned again to Rhys, who was now watching him. The man gestured, pointing first at Hux, then raising his head, pointing to his mouth, and pointing toward Poe. He shook his head - the other pilot wanted him to say something, ask something, but he had no idea what. The man put his arms out like a plane, then motion in front of himself in a steering fashion, then held up one finger.

Plane, drive, one? Oh. Green eyes rolled, one of the reasons that he had accepted the mission so easily was because it got him away from babysitting temperamental children with no anger management and a knack for random destruction.

"Sir," he finally called out after receiving a glare and less subtle gesture from Rhys. "When did you first fly?"

"So, the thrusters…"

It took the instructor a moment to realize someone had spoken to him through his babbling off random facts and useless bits of information. Darkened eyes finally lifted to scan over the crowd of recruits. He knew exactly which one had asked him the question; beneath the sneer and condescending tones of 'I don't give a shit' sat what could possibly be an accent. Poe had picked up on it when they were in the X-Wing together and it became nails on a chalkboard to him.

"Why do you care?" He mumbled, wanting to just ignore him completely. But he felt a tossed wrench hit the back of his calf and he glanced over to where Rhys sat on the mechanic's creeper, glaring at him. Then he realized that the other recruits were exhibiting genuine curiosity, so he sighed and nodded. "When I was six, my mother began to take me up in her A-Wing Interceptor. I would sit in her lap and she would let me hold her hands as she steered. That's when I first began to learn how to handle the controls. When I showed promise, she let me take my first flight. Granted, she was right there with me, it wasn't as though she let me go up on my own."

The more he spoke of his fond memory, the more cheerful his tone began. Almost as if it was the light drawing him out of the dark fog clouding his mind.

"Was your mother a fighter too, sir?" Another recruit called out, causing Poe to actually smile.

"Both my parents were. My mother was a Lieutenant, and my father a Sergeant. It was my mother's love for piloting that sparked my own passion for it. I lost her when I was only eight years old and made a vow to myself then that I would do whatever was in my powers to become a pilot as great as her."

Hux hummed at the small tidbit of information regarding the pilot losing his mother. Was that his pain? Was that the reason that there was a fire behind his dark eyes? The ginger couldn't quite understand that, not with the family he was raised in. He had cut those ties long ago, with good reason, but he still held a few, choice, fond memories of his mother. Jade eyes watched as the dark-haired man came back to life, the vacant area in his eyes slowly igniting with renewed energy.

He half tuned out the ongoing question and answer session, it wasn't helpful to him, really. It was just another thing to distract him from his goal. He caught the thumbs up that Rhys sent him and wondered, briefly, if the other pilot was the key to getting the answers he needed. Surely Commanders would be privy to information about mysterious maps that led to destructive forces. He tagged the thought as one to ponder and test later, perhaps after the man had a few drinks and his tongue loosened. Until then, the ginger would lie and wait.

He scanned the potential ranks around him, taking in the sight of the recruits basically thrumming with excitement as Dameron retold various stories about his first experiences in an X-Wing. He locked gazes with his mentor for a long moment before breaking the stare to look away again.

'Keep your head down,' he thought. 'Don't draw attention. Don't make the first move. Don't push, just resist.'

There was something lilting and natural in Poe's voice, some accompanying accessory that seemed rarely used and majorly regulated except when the man's own giddiness drew it out. It was something foreign, but Hux couldn't quite pinpoint the sound. Perhaps he wasn't the only one in the room muffling his normal accent to instead take up another voice all together. There seemed to be a metaphor somewhere in there, but the ginger tossed out the romanticized thought as soon as it came to better focus on what Poe was talking about.

It was only after the pilot had realized his shoulders were held a bit straighter and his chin a tad more lifted did he let his personal stories drift off. He didn't want to open up to anyone, didn't want to connect with anybody else on a personal level; not with the war really getting started in full swing now. He had dealt with enough catastrophic loss in his life...he didn't want to add to the list of heartache. "Alright, so I feel as though now is a good time for you guys to get a better, more up close look at what it is you will, hopefully, one day be piloting. I'll call you up, one by one, and give you a more proper look."

The first recruit he called up seemed to be an entire bundle of nervous energy. He could nearly feel the girl tremble beside him, though he wasn't fully sure if it had to do with him entirely, or just her being so close to the Rebel Starfighter. Of course, anyone standing beside one would instantly feel over half their original size shrink away; the simple power behind the design alone was enough to make anyone be struck with awe. But her nerves seemed to get the better of her, and she could hardly ask a simple question with the way her voice shook. So Poe chuckled and rested a comforting hand on her upper arm, giving it a slight squeeze of reassurance before sending her back to the group. The next recruit he called up was a male who appeared as though he never smiled in all his life. Every word the instructor spoke, this recruit would counter with "mmhm…. Mmhm.. .Right, mmhm" to the point where Poe finally had enough and sent him back.

Third in line was none other than Rico; the male Poe watched hanging all over Hux at the pub. He smirked, and beckoned him forward, giving Hux a quick glance before ignoring him all together once more. "What are you here for, kid?" He asked him with an actual kind tone to his voice. "You, uh." He scratched behind his eye, studying the sharp features and gentle looks the other male had. "Didn't plan on coming here and finding love, huh? I've been watching you...You get pretty friendly, don't you?" There was no condescending tone in his voice, no mocking underlayings. No, Poe was genuinely curious. His hand pressed to Rico's middle back as he walked him further away from the crowd. "Last thing you want is to open yourself up to that kind of hurt. As a Commander, a friend. When you allow yourself to develop feelings, you are giving your enemy a chance to place a target right upon your back. And even if it isn't you they destroy, the damage will be the same. You get what I'm saying?" Over his shoulder, he flicked another look to Hux, quickly looking away once more.

The ginger in question cocked his head at the pilot's flickering glances. He spoke to Rico in quiet words and his acquaintance responded in vigorous gestures, both declining whatever was being said and acquiescing at the same time. The recruit returned to Hux side, head down. He shot the General a small smile before looking back to the floor. As another student was called up, the brunette spoke.

"I'm not bothering you, am I?"

"Not at all," Hux stated simply, even though he wanted nothing more than to be away from the crumbling base and shivering recruits of the Resistance. "What did he say to you?"

Rico's blue-ish eyes rolled, then glanced to the side, then finally met the jade watching him. "Get outta my head, man. I saw what you did to Commander Dameron at the pub. I don't need you reading me like a book, too."

"Hardly trying, Rico."

That got a smile and a chuckle. "He thought I was being flirty and told me that being in love leads to enemies having a place to hit you, or some shit like that."

A red eyebrow arched. That was rather cynical and pessimistic for someone like the curly haired pilot, whose energy seemed to take flight with a simple flip of a switch. It was true. But still unexpected. He watched student after student walk with his mentor, a few girls swooning at his every word and touch, a few men who were obvious fans, a few others who actually had some dignity and acted professional in the militant environment in which they were in. Hux wasn't really pondering anything as he silently stood, Rico still yammering on about one thing or another, switching from topic to topic about as fast as he could blink.

"And, man, just to warn you, there's only you and one other person who haven't seen the ship, yet," Rico whispered to him. "Might wanna get ready for round five."

Hux sighed, straightened his stance, and silently hoped that the Commander would assume that he had a close enough look at an X-Wing when he piloted one yesterday. The last thing he wanted was a walk-and-talk.


	5. Truce?

Only one student remained. Hux. Poe debated how he should handle it; first thought would be to ignore the ginger, state he's already had a first-hand experience yesterday, why bother wasting any more time? But then he didn't want to come across as petty. Somehow, he had to regain his level of professionalism, as difficult as that was going to be. Especially with how sour and distraught Hux's simple question had left him. Poe was so ready to pummel the taller male into nothing. So ready to throw away everything he has built up over the years for one moment of his defenses being dropped.

"Hux," he beckoned him forward, staring him dead in the eye.

His stance changed significantly as he cleared his throat, refusing to watch the ginger step forward. Instead, his eyes remained glued to the underbelly of the X-Wing in front of them. Childishly as it may have come across, Poe wasn't about to look into the eyes of the man that had brought his most painful memory to the surface so easily.

"The X-Wing you flew yesterday was vastly different than the one you see before you, as I'm sure you already know." Considering you know everything, was what the Rebel fighter had wanted to continue with. "Unless you labor day and night for hours on end completely deconstructing your Starfighter and building it from the ground up, then I doubt you'll have to fly what you experienced yesterday." Considering if the two of them were the last left in battle, he'd rather his own X-Wing go up in flames than ever see Hux behind the steering mechanism once again.

At the other end of the hangar, Rhys and General Organa watched warily, having a couple guards on standby in case fists started flying.

"Customization has a fatal flaw, Dameron," the ginger tried to keep his voice level, eyes trailing over the craft in front of them instead of the man talking to him. He was determined, now, to not lower himself to the petty argumentative behavior of the Rebel. He was better than that and had all last night to dream about it. The pilot had gotten under his skin, and that could have been detrimental, had Hux misspoke. "While it allows for you to optimize your vehicle to your own preferences, it also means that the craft must be in a constant state of updates and upgrades. It is a constantly unfinished project." He stopped his train of thought. We was supposed to be parading around as a student, not lecturing his mentor like a leader.

He risked a glance at the Commander. He was tense, obviously still angry and not cooling down any time soon. He acted differently - the energy and closeness he had with his other students did not carry over to the redhead. That was something that could be seen from a few star systems away. Hux cleared his throat. The General was not a mechanic, nor was he a foot soldier, but strategy and technology were his kingdom.

"For example," he offered, uncertain how the information would be taken. "Your fighter's wings could be slightly adjusted. If you added functional panels to each side that could be raised and lowered at will, you could use aerodynamics to cut quicker and turn sharper without losing power or having to reduce speed."

He turned his attention back to the training X-Wing in front of him, gesturing with a pale hand tracing the wing closest to him. "Here and here. It would be a long process to install the technology, but it would give you more control."

Why the hell was he giving the pilot this information? He suddenly questioned himself. That was actual advice that he offered freely to his enemy. Granted, a better turn radius would not help the Resistance in the long run. Nothing would once the First Order's newest weapon was completed, but it was a matter of principle. A matter of the art of war. Information was not traded freely between sides. Hux mentally kicked himself. Now was not the time to think strategy and outcomes. Now was not the time to give handouts and aid to scum. His charity was nonexistent for the Rebels.

"Forget I said anything," the ginger muttered.

It would have made the entire situation so much easier had that advice not actually been decent. Poe was very certain that Hux came from more than just a simple background. The way he spoke, the way he held himself, and the general air around him screamed something more. Which had the pilot thinking; was the fiery, untamable redhead here for a specific reason? Narrowed eyes finally focused on the profile of the other male; sharp features concealed a stern gaze. Had Leia purposely paired the two of them together? With her thought process of Hux being able to counter Poe's intelligence, had she known of this man prior to him joining? Of course, that was a bullshit thought. Dameron hated when people adapted to the 'everyone is out to get me' way of thinking, so he brushed it away without second thought. It was a chance meeting. One the Rebel Commander was more than anxious to end. He'd have to find a way to stick the sass with someone else.

"I appreciate your information, Pal. But keep it to when it's absolutely needed, alright?" As he turned his back on Hux, giving him a simple gesture of the hand to dismiss him, Poe frowned. He'd be mulling over those ideas for a while and more than likely attempt a way to execute them. "Hux, wait a minute." Clearing his throat, he turned back around to face the redhead. "Stay behind after I dismiss the rest of the class. I need to have a chat with you. It's not a suggestion, either. I suggest you, for once, try and follow an order. I know you've got this—"

He decided it best to just drop it. Petty and childish weren't two adjectives he cared to have associated with his name. Sighing, he glanced away and uttered the two words he would rather drink acid than have to say to this man. "I'm sorry." His hand lifted, briefly patting Hux's arm, before stepping away and moving back towards the X-Wing to attach a ladder for climbing.

The last thing that the General wanted right now - conflicted and annoyed with himself as he was at the moment - was to discuss anything with the Rebel. He scowled at the idea. Regardless, he was surprised to hear the apology, and his sneer dropped away. He cringed when his mentor touched him, feeling as if he had been contaminated by some sickness at the pat - as if the Resistance was a contagious plague.

"Yes, Sir," he answered, adding mentally 'I can't wait until I give the order and destroy everything you consider dear.' Instead, he dropped his gaze and mirrored the man's sentiment. "I apologize as well. I was out of line." It wasn't hard to fake a groveling exterior, he saw it often enough in his own men when they cowered before him - the nicknamed 'Ice General'. He watched the Commander finish hooking on the rope steps and decided to take his leave.

He disappeared back into the crowd of recruits, all of them giving him a questioning look. One man - his sleeves ripped off to show his muscles, hair badly styled, and stupidity shining in his eyes - grunted to someone close to him. "Why can't we all have a ginger bitch?"

The oaf was on the ground before he could see Hux move. Rico's arms secured around the General's chest, pulling him away from the group of goading idiots. The man was on his feet and trying to get in Hux's face as soon as he could orient himself. The brief moment of surprise that ran over his face was satisfying. His already damaged knuckles throbbed, bleeding through the bandages and onto the cuff of his sleeve.

"You wanna go, Punk?" The moronic bag of muscles growled. "Come on, then!"

"Walk away," Rico whispered in his ear. "Walk away, walk away."

The redhead jerked out of his companion's arms, standing tall and daring his opposition to make a move for a few long, tense seconds. He breathed and then, slowly turned his back to the other recruit.

"Yeah, run away, Princess."

Hux drew his shoulders taut. "You should really stop talking."

The commotion caused Poe's head to jerk behind him, half ascended up the rope ladder. Oh, how tempting it was to sit there and watch the shit get beat out of the cocky redhead. But as the scene progressed, Poe sighed. He heard the guards rushing forward to break up the little powwow before things escalated too far out of control, but the Commander quickly turned and waved them off, wanting to see how things would resolve on their own. His footsteps descending the rope ladder were slow and uncaring. He dropped down the final couple of steps and approached the disruption seemingly without a care in the world.

As soon as he saw Brock extended both his hands and give a rough shove to the back of Hux's shoulders, though, he had seen enough. The Rebel fighter sprang into instant action, putting himself between the two before anything further could be done. He pushed Hux back in a cautioning 'stay out of the way' shove, then threw a mean right hook, catching an unsuspecting Brock in the jaw. "You think I really want someone that would turn on his own teammate and attack when the other isn't looking on MY team?! Ey?! Ya done, pendejo! Ya done!" As Poe's angered words boomed around him, his more natural accent had finally come out. "You dare attack a comrade who has their fuckin' back to you?! Ya think that's bravery? Ya think it shows ya being a badass?! No. It shows a pansy, Brock!"

Nobody had expected Poe to actually take a swing on the recruit. Hell, he wasn't expecting it himself; but with all the building turmoil within him, it sort of just…happened. And, man, did it feel good to get that explosive anger out of him. Granted, the fist he had just connected with Brock's rather strong jaw was the unfortunate one that found itself landing against a wall the previous night. The pain, however, seemed to calm him. The searing throb spreading across his entire hand.

Brock wasn't entirely sure what to do. His hand had lifted to cradle the newly acquired injury, but thinking he had nothing left to lose, he lunged. Poe was half a second too late to stop him, and the two landed rather painfully on the ground below. With the quite larger male on top, for a moment, all Poe could do was use his arms to shield his face. He had to maneuver his legs around the large form before finally being able to flip them, securing himself on top.

Rico made sure to stay between Hux and the fight, still nudging the ginger to just leave, to walk away. To leave and come back another day to pick up the strife between he and the Commander. Still, he turned, looking over the brunette's shoulder as the pilot seemingly defended him. For what?

Yes, it was a pathetic move for the larger man to keep trying to instigate a fight with a man who was walking away, but it wasn't exactly unheard of. More, Hux could easily take care of himself. It was true that he wasn't the strongest person in the room, but what he lacked in strength, he made up in speed and cunning. Had he wanted, he could have put Brock on the ground and underground before anyone could stop him.

Perhaps that's why the only reason he wasn't back in the fight was the hand on his chest that urged him away.

But this was all an incredible petty situation, wasn't it? This was an outburst of pent up rage, not an actual defensive maneuver. And that annoyed the General - to see a soldier such as Dameron lose control. He shoved Rico away from him, moving back into the brawl, authority in his every stride.

"Commander! That's enough!" Hux growled, struggling for a few moments to get a hold of the man's shoulders before roughly pulling the pilot away and off the larger recruit. "Enough!"

The only decent hit Brock got on the Commander was a knuckle graze against his upper lip. So as Poe stumbled backward from Hux's pull, he reached up, smearing the blood that dribbled out of the tiny cut. "Te mataré, hijo de puta. Besa mi culo, puto! Vete a la verga culero!" The colorful Spanish insults rolled so easily from the Commander's lips as he watched Brock struggle against the other two recruits holding him back. Rhys had rushed forward and had his own strong arms holding Poe back, though the instructor wasn't making any effort to advance.

"Enough, Poe! It's over!" He growled in his closest friend's ear, giving his smaller torso a quick shake as if to snap him out of it.

"I'm done!" The Commander yelled in response, pushing out of Rhys' grip. "And you! You'll NEVER fly as a pilot here! You're FINISHED!"

Dameron was red in the face as he turned around, shoulder pressed to Rhys' shoulder. His body trembled greatly with the overwhelming anger as he once more brushed the back of his hand against his bloody lip. The portly man wanted to question why he didn't allow Hux to get beaten to a bloody pulp like he had expected him to the moment the fight had started, but decided he would question his companion at a later time, once emotions were calmed.

The guards stepped forward and made quick work to escort Brock from the premises. Poe had no idea what would become of him, nor did he care. They could lock him in a cell for attacking a Commander, force him to do grunt work, who knew? But the Commander couldn't muster the courage to turn around and face his squadron after that, so Rhys sighed, dismissing them for the day.

The First Order Officer watched Brock be led out. The man spit and swore over his shoulder, threatening to join the darkside. How funny it would be if he did, how satisfying it would be to stand in front of the rash soldier in full uniform and wielding his rank. He started to leave with the other recruits before halting his exit. It would be easy to sneak away, now. No one would question why he did, after the ex-recruit had acted out against the ginger and after Dameron retaliated so quickly.

But he was never one to retreat. Ever.

Hux stood far enough away to not intrude on the commanding companions. When Rhys gave him a warning glance, he used a pale hand to dismiss the concern. He would not turn tail, even now. The pilot had ordered him to stay and as much as it irritated to do as he was told by an person of lesser rank, Hux would do so. He waited, silent, until Rhys walked up to him and fixed him with a hard look. He was imposing, when he held himself like that.

"I'm just gonna say this once, Red: do not push him," the Commander hissed in a whisper, no room for argument. "He saved your ass, don't make him regret it or he won't help, again. And I have a feeling that you like picking fights."

"Yes, Sir," Hux answered and was suddenly left alone with the seething pilot. "You wanted to chat, Dameron?"

"Force…" With the fight that had taken place, Poe had nearly forgotten that he had asked Hux to stay behind and talk to him. He certainly was in no mood to have a heart-to-heart, but knew that he couldn't let this moment slide. There was so much negativity brewing between them. So much anger and, Poe didn't want to say such an extreme word, but, hatred. "Come on… I need to get this taken care of."

Though his back was to Hux and knew the ginger couldn't see him motioning to his lip, he did it anyway. The pilot began walk deeper into the hangar, ignoring the stares of the mechanics and other pilots that still lingered around on his path to one of the refreshers nearby. It was a larger one that could occupy several at once, so Poe wasn't terribly concerned about being in a tiny cramped space with someone he still wanted to pummel into oblivion.

Poe wasn't sure if Hux was even following him or not, nor did he stop to check. If the ginger had made an effort to hang back after he so clearly had a chance to run, then he was sure he would follow. Once inside the refresher, Poe stepped up to one of the mirrors above a sink and looked at his reflection long and hard. The blood on his lip had already clotted, forming a small scab, but he still had to wash off the remaining blood around it.

"What's your deal, Kid?" He finally spoke to the redhead, looking up through the reflection at him. "In all seriousness, where's the attitude come from? Why do you feel such a need to prove yourself?"

There was no anger in his voice, just genuine curiosity as he turned the water on.

"Generally speaking, it probably comes from people to call me 'kid,'" Hux sassed instantly before looking away. He crossed his arms, biting his tongue to keep his snark in line.

The ginger was not a fan of small talk. He was less of a fan of heart to hearts. They could get messy too easily and last forever when between the right, or wrong, depending on the perspective, people. He cleared his throat. He knew the tragedy of his own past and how he had been shaped into a man who was more weapon than human, but he never talked about himself. Never told a soul about the traumatic experiences that he overcame to get where he was, now. And he didn't plan to start with some scruffy pilot who didn't care about being on time or controlling his emotions.

Hux met the pilot's reflection with his own gaze. In the mirror, they looked completely black - pupil merged with iris and blended into one, burning coal. He offered an apologetic look for his snipped reply before shrugging.

He could have made up a grand tale of insecurities and strife for the character he was sent here to play, but, instead he answered vaguely, curious to see how the pilot would react to a cryptic answer that could suggest a magnitude of things.

"Life has a way of roughing people up, if one isn't careful enough or can't let go," he didn't bother to hide his accent anymore. Dameron had probably already picked up on it when Hux ordered the fight to an end, back in the hangar.

There easily could have been so much more to that answer, and Poe frowned at the subtle vagueness. He sighed, bending over to bury his face into his palms that he had cupped water in. The coldness of the water contrasted greatly with the heat his face still held and it made his entire body shiver. Standing straight once more, the now murky water seeped through his fingers as he parted them and looked into the mirror. Water droplets clung to his features, slowly pooling into larger beads before dripping from his face. The hair directly above his eyes reacted to the saturation by forming an even thicker curl that hung in his vision.

"I don't quite buy that you were simply 'roughed up'. There's more to you than meets the eye, that I am sure of." A darkened gaze locked on the reflection of a deep green, Poe quirking a thick brow in the process. Turning, he briefly lifted his shirt and dabbed at his face, glad to have found the scab remained in place and did not reopen. "You seem to enjoy the spotlight being on you. And you certainly aren't one afraid of conflict or confrontation. That right there shows that its not just a simple 'roughing up'."

"It may very well be more than a simple roughing up, Commander," Hux agreed. "But I'm certain that it's not something that you and I are close enough to discuss."

Leaning back against the sink, Poe adapted to a much more relaxed posture; his legs kicked out before him, one ankle hooking over the other. His arms lifted and he folded them over his chest, studying Hux's appearance with a wondering eye. "General Organa seems to think there's much more to you also. I tried to have you transferred to another squadron, believe me, I tried. But she thinks we can seem to benefit from one another. But if that's the case, we need to figure this out. This…Between us," he motioned a quick hand between the two of them.

The idea of the Resistance General approving of his influence on the pilot made the ginger chuckle and he turned away from Poe. He didn't like the dark-haired man's attention being on him, didn't like the way those dark eyes roamed over him and picked him apart. He didn't like the idea that Dameron could see his figurative seams, stressed and fraying as the thread came undone.

But that concept - the idea that the woman, Leia Organa herself, thought that Hux and Poe would make a good team and was so sure of her opinion that she refused to transfer him...that was a curious thought. And he filed it away. She had given him almost free reign to push and prod, raised him above the other recruits, and inadvertently handed the undercover General her greatest pilot. Supposedly.

Organa was one of the very few people, of course, that knew Hux had ties to the First Order, though she believed he had defected and spilled secrets and gave classified information about the Order to the rebel scum. She thought he was nothing more than a soldier looking for a cause.

"And stepping away from me," Hux deflected as he glanced over his shoulder to the pilot. "You are not all that meets the eye either." The ginger glanced away and down, unwrapping his injured knuckles to inspect the damage.

Eyes comparable to anthracite trail down from seemingly porcelain features, down the lithe body before finally centering on the glaring red skin surrounding jagged abrasions. With eyebrows knitted, Poe watched as Hux poked and prodded the area, further evaluating the damage he had more than likely inflicted on himself. "Run in with a brick wall?" His words rolled out with minimal amusement, his gaze still cemented on the injury. He was certain that the redhead had not partook in the fight that escalated in the hangar bay, so there was no plausible way his angered knuckles could have resulted from that. Extending his own bruised hand out before him, his eyes bounced from the vast differences, mentally comparing them in his mind.

A tiny, almost unnoticeable smirk began to tug at the corner of his lips, his eyes lightening some in appearance. He had done that to Hux. Maybe not physically, but it now glared obvious that their encounter the night before in the pub had pushed the other male into sending a fist flying into an inanimate object. Oh, that thrilled him far more than it should have. But at the same time, deep within him, the thought pulled at his heartstrings. One day, and both had been reduced to explosive anger. They had gotten under each other's skin with so much passion that neither one could control it. Perhaps Leia was right. If they were to channel that energy into something better, who knew… They could eventually become the power team of the Resistance.

"As you said earlier, Hux. There is far more beneath the surface than I can only guess you'd never care to know about when it comes to me. But, we are nowhere near friendly enough to even indulge in any of those stories."

One thing people learned quickly when it came to war was how to pick something that holds dear to an opponent and twist that one thing so vividly that it destroys them without hand was ever lifted. Potentially, Hux could become one of his best comrades, his power person in his squadron. But as it currently stood, he was an opponent, and it would take a great deal of work to change that. So to let him in on any part of his persona would be handing over the keys to his untimely demise. Dramatic as it may be, Poe just wasn't ready for that.

The General hummed in response to the pilot's words, more or less ignoring the jab that the man sent his way. He strode to a sink, a few away from where the Commander was leaning, and let the water run over his knuckles. He watched the clear liquid drain pink, washing the scrapes with care before twisting off the faucet and drying his hands on rough paper towels. He made a noise - he might as well be running sandpaper over his hands with how low quality it was. He understood military-grade equipment and bedding and furniture, but he could get better paper towels from the recycling bin in the First Order than this.

"So we're at an impasse," the ginger stated. "I don't want to talk to you, you don't want to talk to me, and your General wants us to be boon companions." He threw away the tissue-like paper and leaned a hip against the sink he was just using, watching Dameron.

This man talked about Organa like he knew her personally. Like he trusted her and was trusted in return. And didn't that just work out perfectly? The highest ranked person in the Resistance just handed over her favorite toy pilot to the General of the First Order in exchange for battle plans that made no difference in the war. He was here for information, that much was true, but also made the perfect distraction - 'No, no, look over here at where the Order is gathering their armies for an attack on the Republic. Don't look at the giant planet destroyer, don't pay attention to all the research the Order is doing on sun-harnessing.'

She had made an appearance today, too. She was showing her hand, showing how much she cared about the cocky Commander and how much she cared about them either getting along or fighting each other tooth and nail. Hux was more than willing to use that against everyone here. After all, if she cared so much, it was likely that she close enough to have told Poe everything about the war. Perfect. He could use that.

"So what do we do, now, Sir?" The General questioned. "Call a truce and see how long it lasts before we're back at each other's throats? Place bets on who will break it first?"

The last thing the Commander wanted to establish was a truce between them, but if he were to follow Leia's orders and play nice, it seemed to be the only reasonable thing to do. Though… Placing wagers on who would be the first to crack and lash out on the other did seem rather enjoyable. So much so, that it had the Rebel fighter smirking at the thought. But no… That would just imply that they would never be able to work through their differences and settle things maturely. So Poe sighed and allowed his smirk to fade away.

"I…" After inhaling a deep breath through his nostrils, Poe forced the words to form and adhere to one another in his mind then forced them to reach his lips with as much sincerity as he could muster. "Apologize. I apologize for singling you out on the first day. I apologize for saying anything less than favorable about you." Ah, there's the professionalism Poe knew himself to have. The more he spoke, the more natural and fluid his words became. "I apologize for treating you any differently, and I apologize if I made you feel as though you were anything less than welcomed here."

There. That wasn't so hard. His eyes shut briefly, heavy lids concealing the dark orbs behind, before they reopened and he extended his hand as a peace offering. "Truce?" Even if he was attempting to clear the air between them and hopefully dull down that fiery distaste towards one another, there was still a lingering feeling of uncertainty he held towards the ginger. Something still didn't seem right, but that emotion would be worked through at a later time. For now, he needed a level of understanding between them. For his sake. And for Leia's command.

The outstretched hand became Hux's focus. Eyes looking at it as though it somehow had offended him by even existing. Of course he didn't want to have a truce. He wanted to destroy and conquer and, more than anything, he wanted to leave. He wanted to be back in charge of the Finalizer. He wanted to be back working on classified projects with Supreme Leader Snoke that would end not just the war, but even the slightest whisper of rebellion or resistance to the reign of the First Order.

The aforementioned Supreme Leader would also do more than break and destroy him if this mission was a failure. He had already started on the wrong foot. As annoying as he was, Dameron might be the key to getting the information of the supposed map. But a cautious treaty with the pilot meant that he would have to be even more careful. He would have to traverse around him like the General was on thin ice.

In many ways, he already was.

"Apology accepted, Sir," the redhead couldn't keep the sardonic tone from his voice as he reached out and took the man's hand. "Truce. For now, at least."

Hux pulled his hand away as soon as he had given it to Dameron and pulled his sleeve tightly over his fingers, shielding the broken skin in a makeshift bandage until he could return to his room. He started to move around Poe before he stopped, genuine curiously guiding his words.

"Why do you hide your accent? It came out in the fight. Which I suppose I should thank you for, but, honestly, I could have handled it." The General knew why his own was being hidden - he was undercover, needed to fit in not draw attention to himself and risk exploitation.

The question was the last thing he was expecting the ginger to retort with and it had him frowning slightly. His brow knitted together, he mulled over his response for a moment. "Perhaps the same reason you try to conceal yours." He had caught a hint of the British twinge to the redhead's voice before, but even through the rush of the fight, he heard it booming in full force. "Too many questions are asked if I let the full hit of it come out. For the most part, I conceal it well enough. But, as you saw…" He shrugged, keeping his eyes fixated on the male before him. "When my emotions get the best of me, sometimes it just… Happens. Accents, I've found, tend to lead a path to your past. Certain dialects can pinpoint exactly where you are from. And when it comes to war, that is not information you want readily available."

Poe very rarely ever spoke Spanish on top of that. His accent did have ways of coming into play when he least expected it, but he was far more advanced at concealing the other language. Only in moments of passion, severe frustration, or boiling anger did he allow the other part of him, the hidden part, come out. Once, he had a lover who also spoke Spanish and in the privacy of their shared quarters, they would indulge the other and speak it freely. Once. And that part of him was the part he never wanted to visit again. That was the time he opened himself up far too much and had endured indescribable amounts of pain. The part Hux so quickly threw him back into the previous night.

Just the simple memory of that time in his past brought a visible shiver to his body and he quickly looked away, his lips once more tugging down into an all-too-familiar frown.

"Accents can also designate a time long lost," Hux added. "A past which one does not want to remember." He paused. "I do not hide my accent because people ask questions, Dameron. I hide my accent because I don't like people making assumptions about me."

Well, he hid his accent, here, to keep people's eyes off of him. He wanted to blend in, while undercover. However, when he stood in front of his men, his accent was just another extension of his persona. It set him apart, but also made people believe there was nothing else to him but the militant aristocrat who knew how to speak and crumble civilizations. And he was fine with that. He didn't mind coming across as cold and two dimensional. Let people think what they would, so long as they feared him and followed his orders unquestionably.

Hux watched as a small drop of crimson welled up on the pilot's lips as he frowned. He turned his gaze away, back to the mirror beside him. He ran a hand through his red locks, and frowned, himself. Brock's taunt to him still rang in his ears. Ginger bitch. If he hadn't been held back, he would have done more than land one punch. If he had his blaster, the ex-recruit would be dead. If he was aboard the Finalizer, the idiot would have become Kylo Ren's new chew toy.

"We are not so alike and not so different. I give our truce until tomorrow at midday before we break it," the General snarked. "And I think we both know we'd defect before working as a long-term team." Just from two different sides of the war, he didn't add.


	6. Are You a Dancer?

"Good to know how much confidence you have in us." Any simple movement of his lips had a pain shooting down his chin. Even the most basic vowel shape sparked a sudden burst of pain. A dribble of warmth caused his tongue to dart out and a bitter iron tinge coated the tip. "Shit…" Turning back around, Poe instantly saw in his reflection the cut had reopened; it would certainly be a nuisance for the next few days. A constant reminder of a failed recruit. No, a reminder of him stepping up and standing up for a man he simply could not stand. And Hux's recent declaration of their inability to hold the truce only further cemented his dislike towards him.

"Look, I'm willing to make an effort on this. Even if you're not. This is about the bigger picture; not just petty playground dislike towards one another. I pissed you off, you pissed me off. Big deal. We're both adults, I'm assuming? I know I am. You, I can't be too sure." His dark eyes flicked to the side, watching from the corners for a brief moment, studying him. Then he cut the faucet back on and cupped a palm full, bringing the cold water up and meeting halfway by bending over. Water cascaded from his palm after it touched his mouth, some of it tinted pink as it fell back into the sink.

With a sigh, he stood straight and reached for a paper towel, deciding to just dab at it rather than rub the entire area raw. The blood had to clot, form a new scab. But he didn't want one big enough that would just open up once more at the simplest movement of his mouth. "Vete al infierno," he grumbled under his breath, Brock's face flashing through his mind. The Rebel fighter truly hoped Brock was sentenced to the lowest grunt work imaginable. A bad attitude like that simply wasn't needed around there. Like a bad fuse just ready to blow.

A slight shiver ran down Hux's spine and he crossed his arms, feigning a chill. He mentally kicked himself - 'Stop. Control. Head down.' He dropped his gaze away from his reflection, glaring at the sink before turning around and pacing away the mirror. He stood, silent, one hip slightly cocked in a stance that he would never allow himself be positioned in on the Finalizer.

He needed the information. Needed the pilot to get to that. It shouldn't be as hard as it was to just swallow his disdain for the Resistance and fake a friendship, but his pride was standing before him in full First Order uniform. "Mac galla," he cursed the last few days and the place in which he found himself under his breath. He was stuck, now, between failure and success - accepting the offer of unsteady peace or continuing to push and prod into action. Reluctantly, the ginger closed his eyes, still facing away from the Commander and stated, "Put ice on it when you're back in your quarters. It will slow the bleeding and keep the swelling to a minimum. That will help your lip. Your inner conflicts that came out when you tried to beat that spineless ingrate into the ground...well, ice probably won't do much for that."

The ginger braced himself before sliding his eyes open and fixing a new expression on his face. He softened his features, tension dropping out of him completely as he imagined it draining into the floor and vanishing. The General turned back toward Dameron, head tilted slightly and a teasing smile on his face. His eyes were alight with mischief and his crossed arms dropped so he could slip his hands into his pockets. Vulnerable, pseudo-open, and approachable. He gave a shrug.

"I will /try/ to uphold our truce, Commander. It will, of course, be tempting to break it, seeing as I've bested you so much in just two days," He added a chuckle to take the edge off the words and let his lilting accent completely reveal itself to the dark-haired man. "But nevertheless, I will try. I apologize, too, for going out of my way to rile you up. It was unprofessional."

Ahh, there it was. Poe was seriously wondering when Hux would offer up his own apology into the mix; better late than never, he supposed. "What was that?" Eyes widened, Poe replayed the two words that came from the recruit's mouth. Two very, very foreign words. A language he was quite unfamiliar with. "Before you went all Dr. Ginger on me. Thanks, by the way, but please, enlighten me." As he turned to face the other male once more, Poe leaned back against the sink, both hands behind him and gripping the edge. He adapted to a relaxed appearance once more, finding it very intriguing that Hux was able to speak a different language. Granted, he could have easily misunderstood him as he spoke something differently. Or maybe Hux just grumbled something incoherently. Cleared his throat.

Regardless, just the simple thought that someone else could speak another language intrigued him. Even if it was this comrade of his that he was steadily growing to dislike more and more and more as time passed by. He didn't want to think of them sharing something else in common; even if it wasn't the same language that they speak. Arms folded over a broad chest as Poe awaited the other male's response. Languages were a big turn on for him and he didn't need anything softening him up to the guy. No matter what the outcome, even if Poe did begin to gain some respect for him, fact remained that Poe, himself, was on the red head's shit list. There was just too much negative right off the bat for anything good to ever spawn between them, Poe was certain of it.

"What was what?" Hux questioned, at first thinking that the pilot was mocking him about the overly formal apology he offered. He replayed his words, before he went 'Dr. Ginger'? Before he talked about-oh. The ginger shrugged again. The Commander seemed much more relaxed, now, but the conversation was losing purpose and getting dangerously close to being small, idle chatter. It was a waste of breath and time. Though, the General supposed, he had more time than he knew what to do with on the Rebel base. Why not indulge someone he would soon never see again?

"Mac galla?" He clarified, then translated. "Son of a bitch." He chuckled, finding it funny for the first introduction made between Dameron and the language was a curse. He had met many people across the galaxy who spoke many different languages, but his mother's language was unmatched and unknown by everyone he had ever met. "It's an old language, extremely rare. I only know of one group of people who actually know it. I suppose I'm a dying breed in more ways than one." He gestured to his fiery hair. "The last generation."

Not only was Poe utterly entranced at learning of a whole new, rare language, but he was also insanely giddy that the first words he heard in aforementioned language were swears. "Mac galla…" He muttered to himself under his breath before an actual genuine smile spread wide across of his lips, "I'll have to remember that one!" With a soft chuckle, he thought for a moment; did he want things to mellow out with this male? Here they were, standing in the middle of a refresher, more than likely with Rhys pressed against the door on the other side listening, discussing languages. All he had wanted originally was a simple, 'I'm sorry, you're sorry, ta.' And that's it. Not for an actual conversation to develop between them.

"Hijo de puta," he offered with a smirk. Standing straight for a brief moment, he crossed opposite legs and settled back against the sink, falling into a comfortable, more natural stance. "Same as your...What was it...mac galla? Though, my mind automatically defaults to one particular swear. 'Pendejo.' Not quite sure I should tell you what it means, considering I've used it towards you quite a few times," he chuckled, shaking his head, "my apologies by the way. But, basically, jackass. First swear word I ever said. Four years old. My father was working on a droid that we had that malfunctioned. Shocked himself. Not more than three seconds after it came from his mouth, guess who repeated it. Got my ass nearly beat for it."

When he realized how deep into his memory bank he was going, Poe's expression almost instantly sobered. That was a memory he would normally save for a good friend or someone he felt comfortable around. So why did it feel so comfortable telling it to Hux? "Sorry, you probably don't care one bit." His apology came with a saddened sigh and he stood straight once more. "Look, I don't mean to keep you. If you've got some place you need to be, no need to humor me by staying. You're welcome to go."

"No, I want to know," the ginger stated before he could filter his own words. Why did he say that? Swapping childhood stories was not exactly critical to the mission. But, for some reason, the Resistance pilot was easy to talk to - perhaps it was because he so easily talked. Or perhaps because his expressions were so genuine and readable. Or maybe it was just the aura around the man. He was charismatic, certainly. Magnetic. Hux would not deny that the Commander knew how to work a room and draw people toward him. He was a social butterfly and that trait, apparently, stretched to when he was standing in refreshers with undercover officers of opposing forces.

"Besides," the General fell back onto his teasing and sassing to push the conversation away from where he now stood and pondered the pilot. Making friendships with his enemies was certainly an awful idea, regardless of whether they met again in person or not. "Do you really think there's any pressing matters for me? My mentor let the entire squad of recruits off early because he picked a fight with a, how did you say it, pendejo?" He shrugged and glanced away. "I'm not humoring anyone, Sir. You should know by now that I'm not one to shy away from speaking his mind. If I wanted to leave, I would have."

That should not have comforted him in the slightest. But to know Hux didn't jump at the opportunity to abandon him brought his smile back just a smidgen, even if he attempted to conceal it. "In my defense, technically, I didn't pick the fight. I simply…butted in to your fight." His words were laced with sarcasm at his expense and he grinned, lifting his shoulders briefly before chuckling. "And yes. Pendejo. Very, very classic example of what that word stands for. One thing you'll learn about me, Pilot, is I do not do well with cowards. Had he been brave, he would have forced you to face him. I didn't think you weak, or that you needed to be saved. Truthfully, that kind of shit pisses me off. Plain and simple. If he was so willing to attack a comrade whose defenses were down, who knows what kind of person he would become in the heat of the battle."

So now not only did they stand there and talk about old family heritage, stories of childhood memories, but now Poe bashed a fellow fighter. Regardless of if what he said was utterly true, no questions asked, he should have just bit his tongue and kept it to himself. "Ah sh...Sorry, I...Mierda…" Pinching the bridge of his nose, the Rebel Commander hesitated for a moment, "I'm rambling now. It's...It's been a long few days, I'm sure you can tell." Poe felt entirely comfortable around Hux at the moment. His posture proved that, his word vomit proved that. But his expression held confusion. Why? It felt like he was talking to Rhys. Like nothing was off limits. Lifting his gaze to Hux's features, he smiled. Maybe Leia's hunch was right after all…

"I'm rather used to people rambling and talking my ear off," Hux waved the apology of with a dismissive hand. It was odd to be so laid back and even amicable to the pilot, but it was a nice change of pace from having no one to talk to at all. Of course he had peers and other officers, but the closest thing he had to friends were Captain Phasma and Kylo Ren. Neither of those were healthy options. He looked around the room they were in.

As much as he had started to not mind the pilot's presence, the location of their bonding was pulling the scowl back onto his face. "Not to sound any more snobbish than you already think I am," the ginger began his request. "Do you mind if we move this talk away from the lovely smell of toiletries, cheap soap, and something else I'm not willing to ponder? Preferably somewhere with comfortable seating that doesn't remind me of bad life decisions?" Hux smirked, purposefully choosing words that made him sound prudish and overly haughty. "What should I call you? Do you prefer to be addressed by rank or name?"

The suggestion was actually a damn good one and giving a quick glance around their location, Poe smirked. No matter how much headway he thought he was getting the with red head, that snobbish, 'better than thou' attitude just reminded him of his dislike towards the male. But he decided not to dwell on it and just give the man the benefit of the doubt; they were, after all, conversing freely in the refresher.

"You now know of my first beating and first swear word. I think we've surpassed official titles or ranks." Stepping forward, he led the way from the room, smirking as the door slid open and Rhys quickly stumbled back.

"Oh, I was, just had to…" But the knowing look of his friend made him roll his eyes and brush past Hux on his way in.

"And in all fairness, I don't think you can ever make yourself sound any more snobbish. No offense or anything, but I mean. Come on." Poe chuckled, waiting until Hux had stepped up towards his side, the two of them now walking beside one another. "If you're used to people talking your ear off, is it because you're never given the chance to talk? From what I saw yesterday, you certainly have no problem with speech. By all means, I'm all ears. Talk away. I won't stop you."

A little inside look into this man wouldn't hurt. If he's to open up and become friendly with him, the more he knew, the better.

"It's less of a forced silence and more of a willful vigil," Hux stated simply as he moved with the pilot. At his real post, he rarely spoke outside of giving orders, only voiced the necessary and kept his mouth shut other than that. He found no need to connect to other people. More, he couldn't stand stupidity, so his options were highly limited. "I give speeches often, but I don't talk about myself."

Wasn't it Dameron who had told Rico that getting involved with others was a danger? That was the harsh reality of war. Everyone against you was an enemy. Everyone with you was a liability. The safest option was to keep to yourself. Never open up, never face loss. Rather, never face grief over loss. Lives being extinguished was something that was unavoidable.

Still, the Commander obviously wanted a shared story in return. Hux flickered through his memories, trying to find one that was either happy or unrevealing. He shivered slightly and put some space between his mentor and him. The pilot was not the only one with a past he didn't want to dip into.

"I was never..." Hux started and stopped. He backtracked and started again, differently. "My mother used to take me stargazing. That's how I was introduced to her language. She would tell me the stories in her old tongue and then teach me bit by bit to understand it." The ginger met eyes with a recruit who seemed confused to see him walking with Dameron and not fighting with him. "Some of my fondest memories are laying out on a beach or on our balcony and listening to her."

Listening to Hux recite his tale of his mother had Poe smiling fondly. A part of him ached for lost time with his own mother, always feeling as though she was taken from him far too early. But at the same time, another part of him felt extremely guilty because he was glad he didn't grow a deeper bond with her over the course of time, which would have made it far more difficult to lose her. But he, too, remembered stargazing with his mother, laying in the crook of her arm with his head resting on her shoulder. Both pointing up at the twinkling lights dotting the inky evening sky. Watching as clouds drifted over the moon and giggling over what images it resembled.

"Times seemed far more simpler then, did they not?" The Rebel pilot chuckled sadly, stepping through the opening leading into a lounge. There were only a few others residing in there, though no one paid them any mind as they entered. Off to the opposite side of where the others were sat a few chairs and a loveseat. Poe took a seat in one of the chairs and rested his foot on the opposite thigh. "You know, I was never sheltered from the fighting. Both my parents, as you heard earlier, were very much involved from the get go. Damn. I even promised my father I would one day rule the entire universe," the dark eyed male laughed as he rubbed at his brow, giving his head a shake. "But even then, I never could have fathomed that things would have turned out the way they did."

The Rebel's mind instantly switched gears, bringing his thoughts to the First Order. To everyone who ever thought they were more superior, deserved more, attempted to own more… "Wonder what their thought patterns are. Just…about anything," he muttered aloud as his thought more about. "What makes them tick. Not even on an opposing side. I'd give nearly anything for an opportunity just to sit down with one of them and chat. About anything. Just to see what makes them so much more different than us." But he gazed up at his recruit with a quirked brow and laughed. "Stupid thought. Believe me, I get it. But still…Can you just imagine?"

Hux was warily looking around the lounge as the rebel spoke, barely listening to the other man as he perched on one side of the couch, sitting catercorner to the pilot. He looked down at the end table that separated them, green eyes tracing the worn lines and cup-circles that were stained into the top of it. He hummed when Dameron started to talk about the First Order and turned his attention away from the ruined tabletop and to his mentor. The man's dark eyes were practically ablaze with his curiosity about the thought process of the General's own side.

"I don't have to imagine," he stated, mind checking out at the most inopportune moment. He quickly backtracked, trying to play off his slip up and make the statement flow into a misdirection. "I've talked to a few of them in my life."

'Smooth. Brilliant. Well done, Hux,' the ginger thought to himself. 'Keep the attention on you and the conversation on your armies. That's the perfect way to stay undercover. Why don't you continue with 'by the way, did you know that the Order is building a massive weapon called Starkiller?' I'm sure that will keep you completely off the Resistance's radar. Idiot.'

"I mean," the General could feel a slight heat rise in his cheeks the more he tried to back his way out of the situation and continued to step on his own toes. "My family is aristocratic. High society. You meet a lot of people at galas and balls - both good hearted people and...less savory folk." He glanced away, trying to will the blush of anger and embarrassment toward himself away. Stop it. Play shy. He was already blushing, he'd just pass it off for being shy about his upbringing and maybe the Commander would buy his act and half-truths. "They are," Hux coughed. "They are an interesting bunch."

The heat that surfaced to Hux's cheeks was downright endearing. It gave the other male an almost adorable appearance and Poe found that, whether he would ever admit it to himself or not, he actually liked it. The sight had the pilot's lips curving up into a soft, appreciative smile and he had to force his darkened eyes to glance away. He had been told in the past by previous lovers that when he felt at ease, or enticed by something, his regularly charcoal stained eyes turned into a lighter shade; a vast difference. And the smile cemented to his lips surely would have reflected obviously in his gaze.

Clearing his throat, he decided it best to not dwell on such matters, not wanting to feel softened up to his comrade. Admiration was the first step down a slippery slope, after all. "You were raised in galas? And balls?" The thought of being a young child forced to endure that sort of torture had Poe feeling sorry for the pilot-recruit. His parents never forced him to go to any of those gatherings, and he is eternally grateful for it.

Hux turned back to the pilot with a small smile and a shrug. "Both my mother and father were well known aristocrats. And both came from old money. So, we were constantly invited to events. It became routine." He glanced away again as he sat further back on the couch and stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankle.

Another thought came to mind that had Poe quirking a curious brow. "Can you dance?" The chance of finding another trained with a background of dancing was rather rare. Poe was never one for the slower ball dances, but a dancer is a dancer, regardless. His favorite would forever remain the tango. Salsa being a close second. He knew how to do the more formal, slower dances, but was utterly enchanted by the passion and fire behind the other two dances. "Being around such events, I'm sure you're at least somewhat familiar with dancing." Of course, he could be making a vast assumption, but curiosity got the best of him.

The ginger was not certain what the look in the other man's eyes meant, but it was unsettling to have someone stare at him with anything other than fear or respect. People knew better on the Finalizer than to keep eye contact with him. They learned – one way or another – to bow their heads and avert their eyes to stay away from his icy wrath. Admittedly, it was nice to finally talk to someone that wasn't stuttering and tripping over their words. It wasn't something he would want to happen often, but it had been a long time since he last held a conversation with anyone.

"I can dance, yes," The General finally answered. He not only had the ability to dance, but he greatly enjoyed it. He loved to spend time stepping to a beat, swaying as one with another person, and letting the music swirl around them and keep the partners closer. Dance was expressive and passionate and unifying. It was intimate and enticing – a tangle of limbs and turns and motion that swirled together to create a thing of beauty.

Hux didn't try to hide the light that flickered into his eyes, turning them more silver than green, or the softness of his expression. "It's one of my favorite things to do. Dance, I mean." He adored the romantic connectivity of the waltz most of all, but could not deny the beauty of the fiery passion found in a tango or the almost militaristic motions of the Pasa Doble "I rarely have a chance, anymore. But I love it."

So the Commander and the recruit had a lot more in common than Poe ever would have anticipated. And it made his insides twist around itself. His smile faltered and he dropped his gaze as he pondered how he would respond. Of course, he could easily admit to his love of the dance as well and let their conversation spiral towards that. Or he could just avoid it altogether as a selfish attempt to keep himself distanced from the ginger. But deep inside, he was excited. Someone else shared his passion, and as rare of a moment that was, a part of him wanted to show his excitement.

"Doubt the dancing nowadays is anything like you're used to, huh?" The Rebel fighter decided to joke lightly instead, not drawing any attention to his own passion for it. Nowadays, the dancing seemed senseless and overrated. He rarely allowed himself to indulge when they had their dances. In fact, he rarely went to the dances. Instead, he would find solace in the pub, thankful a large majority of the regulars were otherwise occupied.

In fact, Poe found himself becoming more and more withdrawn from a lot of the activities that took place on base. They weren't frequent, which made it seem all the more concerning that Poe would find reasons for himself not to go. He had been finding much more enjoyment by sticking to himself. Relaxing in his quarters, trailing the woods surrounding the buildings and discovering new things. Truthfully, Poe found more comfort deep in the trees, lately, than with a group of people.

Hux rolled his eyes as he thought about what was now designated as 'dancing'. Grinding and obscene humping motions in public were not dance. They were the sex-fueled motions of desperate men and women who had grown tired of their own hands at night. Perhaps that was harsh, but to even place those rhythmic undulations of bodies into the same category with the finesse of a salsa or the complex kicks of a quickstep was insulting.

Force, the ginger sounded snobby even in his own head.

"What dancing? The art is dying nowadays," He responded to the jest. "No, I'm used to ballroom and styles like that – foxtrot, salsa, waltz, tango. Though I've also been to places that praise the Pasa Doble and contemporary dance." He shrugged. "Am I to assume that you don't idolize the newest version of dance, either?"

Did the pilot dance? That would be a surprise to the General. He didn't meet many people who enjoyed dance, let alone knew how to do it. He had gone out of his way while on his ship to teach a few officers, as well as Captain Phasma, the basic steps of a few styles, if only to give him a reason to step into that musical partnership for a few brief moments. "Are you a dancer, Dameron?"


	7. Adrian Rodriguez

Damn…

"No." The answer came out gruffly, accompanied by a huff and flared nostrils. He didn't want to open up that part of him to Hux. He didn't want to allow the other to know any more about him than he already willingly gave up. Why had he even suggested they meet up after the other recruits were dismissed? A simple 'ey, apologies' could have easily sufficed! But no. He defended Hux. Prevented him from getting booted from the program as well as Brock. Willingly passed over memories of his that he didn't ever give up to recruits. And now this?

"Not any more, at least. Maybe in the past. But…That part of me is gone. It died a long time ago."

Way to sound bitter, Dameron. The look on his face matched the sour tone to his words. Oh, he loved to dance. Given the right partner, he'd probably consider dancing once more. He hadn't, not since… Shivering at the overwhelming memories now plaguing his mind, Poe glanced away, giving himself a minute to recompose himself.

"Dancing these days is.. Nothing more than pathetically gross. It's an excuse for idiots to grind against one another. The last party we had here, this girl, this barmaid, she thought it was perfectly acceptable to just walk on over, turn around, and press herself against me, I mean," laughing softly, Poe shook his head, "ahh, it was…disgusting. There's no class. No self-respect anymore. So, no. I don't dance anymore."

The sudden change in mood jolted the General out of the happy daze he was in - the daydream that he could have a normal conversation about something that interested both parties involved. It hurt, though he'd never admit it, that the pilot was willing to ask him questions, but seemed to close off all communication if the same was asked back. Hux cleared his throat, straightening his position and bringing his legs closer to the couch. Of course they couldn't get along forever. They were enemies and, sooner or later, they would both be certain of that.

It was obviously time to say goodbye and part ways. Better to go deal with whatever each had to do that evening and restart their relationship of student and teacher in the morning, but on a better, less challenging note. The ginger had overstayed his welcome, and like a good dinner guest he would take his-

"What made you stop dancing?" Hux questioned before he could be polite and excuse himself. He dropped his gaze. "Never mind. You have your reasons, and by the looks of it, they're still fresh on your mind. No need to tell a recruit you just met if you still haven't come to terms with it yourself. I understand the sentiment, intimately." He paused. "Sorry. Over-observation. Most of that was supposed to stay in my head."

He should leave, right? He glanced at the Commander, at the fire in his eyes at the way his body was positioned. Yes. Yeah. He should leave. Hux slid forward in his seat to perch on the edge of the cushion. "Good talk. I should go before I completely trample on our truce and have us back to fighting."

"It…" Shut up, Dameron. Don't give in. Don't mind the fact that you've been aching for someone to talk to, someone that actually shows interest and is willing to listen. Ignore that you've hidden your passion for dancing for so long now, that you nearly forgot about it yourself. No, forget all of that. And just shut yourself off to everyone and everything. Be the hardened shell of your former self that you're slowly turning into. No one will care. Do it. "You're right. I haven't come to terms with it yet…"

Sighing heavily, the pilot slumped down in his chair, feeling his mood completely shattered now. It wasn't meant to be like this. Truly and honestly. Whatever this little bond he was forming with Hux…it wasn't supposed to be. Not with the man who was so quick to one-up him in front of all of the other recruits. Not the man who can easily out sass him in a heartbeat.

He made no mention to Hux speaking of leaving. He focused, instead, primarily on that burning ache building deep within him to finally have someone to talk to. But if he got desperate enough, Rhys would listen. Halfway. To an extent. For a little while. Poe often felt like he was annoying someone when he tried to speak passionately about anything. The subtle eye rolls others would do, or that tiny, almost unnoticeable huff of boredom; oh, he quickly picked up on all of it. Though, he hadn't noticed it coming from Hux, yet.

The ginger was unsure what to do. The military man - the one that was undercover and spying - wanted to leave for he had already gotten too close to the enemy. The man behind the mask of militant behavior was curious about the pilot, for this Commander was not all that he seemed to be - he was a mystery that needed to be solved. The true self behind all those smoke and mirrors - all the deflections and misdirection - wanted to know that Poe was alright. The small, withered shred of humanity within Hux felt for the man who he seemed to have much in common with.

Perhaps the best explanation was that Poe Dameron was what General Hux could have been, had things been different. Maybe that was what this fascination was: kindred spirits who, by the forces surrounding them, walked two very mirrored, but different, paths. Both shaped by some tragedy. Both hardened by experience. Both devoted to the war. Both fighting for what they deemed was right and willing to give anything for it. Both untrusting and unsure, but willing to put up a front of security and confidence to banish outsider's concern for them.

He should leave.

But he couldn't.

Hux reached out slowly to the man who reflected him too much and rested a hand against the rebel's knee - a reassurance, an understanding, an acceptance. He waited for dark eyes to meet his own before he stated in determination and nervous urgency for the pilot to recognize that he was not alone. "The sentiment, Poe, is completely understood."

The touch alone would have sufficed enough to ease the pilot's ache. But the deepened connection their eyes had and the words of understanding had his heart clenching. Though saddened greatly, his lips once more pinched up into a smile. His hand outstretched and rested on Hux's, giving it a gentle squeeze of thanks, even if he didn't voice the words out loud. Such sentiment was behind Hux's voice, it was eerily calming, and Poe was deeply grateful for it.

"Can we go somewhere else to talk?" Suddenly, being around others, even if there were only a few on the opposite end of the room, just wasn't cutting it for the Commander. If he was going to allow himself to remove a few bricks of the wall he had built up around himself, he damn sure was going to make certain there was only one person around that he would grant access to. Just a simple peek through one or two broken bricks. That's all.

Without waiting for an answer, the Rebel fighter stood, the hand on his knee falling away. He stepped around the furniture, keeping his head low as he made his way back towards the door. As soon as it slid open, he stepped out and to the side, waiting with baited breath to see if Hux would follow. If the red head had decided not to, he made a vow that he wouldn't hold it against him.

Hux wasn't entirely sure if his goal was to keep the conversation going or to just tell the pilot that he was accepted, but as Dameron stood and made a quick exit, the ginger forced himself to pause before automatically following him. He took a breath. This wasn't about the mission anymore. He could only lie to himself for so long before he was aggravated by his own excuses. He had offered support because whatever the rebel wasn't saying struck a cord deep within the General. He had hit a note that was so sorrowful that Hux's own melancholy song played back to him.

He never got close to people. Never opened himself up - not anymore. He built up his walls not to keep people out, but to see if anyone cared enough to get in and they didn't. People didn't care about his own past, his own abu-experiences. They only cared that he did his job and did it well. He liked to think himself a king, but he knew he was more like a rook - still a powerful piece, but easily toppled and replaced. He stood slowly and walked toward the door. It was time to go. It was time to recollect himself and to re-frost. He needed to get back in his own mind and out of Dameron's because this was dangerous.

But was the pilot not a key target? Did that not make him part of the mission?

No, he told himself. That was another excuse.

When he stepped into the hallway, Dameron looked defeated. He looked that the wind had been taken out from under his wings and he was in a spiraling freefall with no way left to fly. Hux took a breath. This was a mistake. This was going to get him into trouble. This was going to get him caught.

But he saw too much of himself in the pilot, and, so, he spoke his own death toll, "Where are we going?"

Poe couldn't speak; he felt as though he were in a trance, or paralyzed by the moment. Whatever it may be, he took to the halls wordlessly. His dark eyes refused to lift from the floor, his mind putting him into autopilot. Turn after turn, he wound them deeper into the base, through one corridor, into the next. The crowd began to thin out, the halls expanding into a far more military appearance. A few guards stood sporadically at this point, signifying without words or actions that not just anyone could enter these premises.

At the far end of a corridor, sectioned off in the corner, at a door a great distance from the others, Poe stopped. He lifted his hand, pressing his fingertips to a blank pad that quickly beeped to life. Colors danced across the small touch screen and the pilot drew in a pattern for his password. With two quick beeps, the pad flashed green and he waited for the doors to his private quarters to slide open.

As soon as they did, he stepped in and a few lights kicked on. His place wasn't anything grand, but he made it his own. Over the years, he had collected quite the few items while visiting all the different planets and made a conscious effort to display them aesthetically pleasing to the eye around his place. Nothing stood out vibrantly, but it was enough to make it his home; even if it was nothing compared to the home he used to have. In the end, these were but simple barracks. His status in the Resistance allowed him privacy, and Poe made sure to take full advantage of that.

"Uh, so yeah… Just, uh. Make yourself at home," he shrugged, motioning at the loveseat and recliner chair he had in the small, makeshift living room. Stepping into the even smaller kitchenette, he dug around in a cooling compartment and produced two non-alcoholic beverages; to get drunk, or even slightly tipsy at this point would only prove more chaotic and destructive than good. Poe took a moment to mentally freak out on himself for leading Hux back to his quarters before stepping back out to pass over the drink.

To say that Hux was riled up and screaming on the inside was a complete understatement. Their long walk, the guards posting around this area, the private chambers. All of this was a recipe for disaster. He was so far in the proverbial deep waters that he couldn't even dream of touching the bottom. Why had he not listened to reason? Why had he agreed to go with the pilot? Why did he care? Wasn't he supposed to be cold and ruthless? Wasn't he the Ice General? Didn't he want this planet, these people, to either bow before him or to be erased from existence? Not just wiped out. Not just killed. He wanted to make sure that they never existed in the first place. He wanted to make it so that the stars themselves would not bear witness to their lives.

The ginger took the drink with a small smile, taking a sip before making a noise between a scoff and a laugh. "Ginger ale. How fitting." He glanced over at the loveseat, then the recliner. This wasn't good. This wasn't meant to happen. He made his way to the end of the small couch - as far away from the chair as possible - and took a seat, letting Dameron dictate how close they were going to be. Was that another metaphor? Probably. He'd think about it later when he wasn't desperately trying to find a way to not be suspicious and still care and not care and open up himself all at the same time.

One thing was certain - this wasn't going to work. He could either open up, or he could be inconspicuous. He could either be undercover, or he could care. If he got close to the pilot, he would find himself arrested and thrown into the cells, here, awaiting interrogation. If he left, he would sever the ties he had with the first person in years that he felt any kind of connection to. He could either be himself or be alone. He could be captured or he could be free.

He wanted a third option. Wanted his thinking to be a fallacy of the false alternative, but there was no third choice. This was it - black or white, dark or light, enemies or friends. He could either be here or there. He could either help or hurt. In every instance, he could only do one.

Hux looked up at Poe from where he sat. "Going to join me or just stand and continue to creepily stare at me from across the room?"

"I'm still not entirely sure what's going on." Lifting his hand that is no longer holding one of the glasses, Poe rubbed nervously at the back of his neck. "Ah, mierda…" He finally sighed, figuring there was no turning back at this point. Taking nearly half the drink in one gulp, the pilot finally stepped into the living room and set his drink down on a small coffee table. He stepped over Hux's legs, careful not to kick him, even on accident, and approached a bookshelf that was easily overloaded with items. An upside down picture frame resided on the very top shelf and Poe reached up to grab it.

As he flipped it over, a soft, nearly dreamy smile overtook his features. His free hand brushed away the dust that had accumulated on the frame as he studied the picture. Himself, tightly wrapped up in another male's long arms. Both smiling with award winning smiles. Happiness evident in both their expressions. A time lost too soon, most certainly.

Looking over the frame, he spotted Hux and that smile quickly faded. "Here." Was all he muttered as he passed over the picture, then dropped down into the recliner with a deep blush. He wasn't going to explain any more than he absolutely had to, but Hux wanted to know. The taller male had asked what it was that Poe lost. He asked why Poe had quit dancing. The answer was simple, and it was all right there in that small, fading picture.

The ginger studied the faces he saw smiling back at him and he frowned. He looked at Dameron, a slight tilt to his head before he drew his gaze back to the picture. Who was the tall, lean man that was wrapped up in the pilot's arms? The man's smile was blinding - so full of life and joy and some deeper connection to the younger version of the Commander. The picture was worn, and there was a crack at the top of the glass, as if it had been thrown. The man's smile was reflected on Poe's face. They were so close to one another. There had been a thick dust on the image when the pilot first turned it over. There was so much warmth and life and joy in the photo. The frame was upside down.

Hux suddenly dropped it onto the table like he had been burned. His green eyes flickered and focused on anything other than the picture and the man who had become his reluctant companion. He shook his head. He hated seeing ghosts from the past. Hated feeling like lives could transcend their own time and linger in the present. Hated when memories took shape and became nightmares. His left wrist itched under his sleeve. Images of bruises on pale skin flitted across his mind. Sensations of phantom pain and unyielding pressure pushed down on him, lit up his skin in a way that only the living past could do.

"Who was he?" The General grit out. He needed to get out of his own head. This wasn't safe. "Who was the man with you?" His wrist itched more, almost burned. "What happened to him?"

The pilot was expecting questions, that much was a given; he didn't expect to randomly pass over a picture and not have the other curious as to the true nature of it. What Poe wasn't expecting, however, was how difficult it would be to answer the questions. And he didn't think Hux would seem so deeply intrigued by it. As he lifted his gaze to finally look at the other male once more, he saw a flash of emotion in the alluring green eyes. An emotion he wasn't familiar with. One he had yet to see on the recruit in the couple of days now that he's been around him.

"You asked me what I lost," Poe finally was able to answer with great reluctance. "It was him." His line of sight dropped onto the table where the picture was residing, catching the image of Adrian smiling up at him. "You asked me why I quit dancing." A soft sigh escaped from Poe's mouth as he reached out, flipping the picture upside down once again, unable to look at Adrian's smiling face any longer. "It was because of him."

Almost every aspect of Poe's life changed the day Adrian died. That fiery passion behind his eye disappeared, his desire to do much of anything drifted away. He even found he couldn't bring himself to get into an X-Wing for nearly two months afterwards; his once favorite thing to do in life, now a big fear of his. He knew he had put too much of himself in Adrian… Knew it the first time they made love instead of just raunchy sex. Knew it when he slid that engagement ring down Adrian's slender finger. But what he didn't know was exactly how much of himself he had lost the moment Adrian left him. How much he has yet to get back.

Hux's eyes caught the movement of the frame being flipped over and suddenly that was all he could focus on. He shook his head. He knew what he heard, comprehended every word spoken, but he couldn't...he didn't want to accept it. Didn't want to look at that picture and see a version of Dameron that was so different than the one before him now because that meant he had been so dramatically changed by one person...one man who was there and then gone.

The ginger made a low whining sound as he shot into a stand and walked away from the couch and the picture and the Commander and the phantom memories that swam around in the air between them. No. He would not do this. He would not open up again. Especially to someone he should hate. He wasn't going to connect to someone he would inevitably meet on the battle field. He would not jeopardize the entire mission because this man reminded him so much of himself, had they both lived different lives.

"What...was his name? What was he to you?" The General scratched at his arm through the loose sleeve.

He was chosen to go on this journey because he wasn't supposed to be human. He was supposed to be robotic, unmoving. He was supposed to be untouchable. He was supposed to be unwavering. His walls were supposed to be too high up for people to even try and get in, but Dameron was coming very close to scaling them. He could feel the man climbing up them, could feel the toes of his shoes digging into the stone and brick, could feel his hands finding cracks to hold and inadvertently making them larger, deeper. Hux kept his back to the pilot.

The way Hux was reacting had Poe a bit alarmed and he glanced over his shoulder, watching him with baited breath. For a moment, he assumed the other male was about to make a run for it. About to abandon him to wallow in self-pity like he so deserved. So when the questions continued, he was taken aback quite a bit. "Oh…" Settling more comfortably in his seat, the pilot rubbed at his forehead, feeling the onslaught of a migraine forming. He sighed, wondering just how deeply he wanted to get into discussion with his new companion. Not at all, to tell the truth, but he had allowed himself to open up this much.

"Adrian Rodriguez." The name sounded so foreign coming from his mouth after all this time. He could remember nights spend in his lover's arms, laughing over the thought of them getting married. Poe Rodriguez. Adrian Dameron. It took them about a week to finally decide on the idea of Poe taking his last name. Though he hated to let the Dameron name die out, taking Rodriguez as his own made Adrian happier than can be. So it was a no brainer after that.

What was he to Poe..? That had the pilot's heart thumping like mad. His blood ran cold and he swallowed hard. "Wh-What was he to me..?" Everything. Simply put. "He, uh… W-We.." His voice cracked so he paused for a moment, allowing himself time to regather his wits. "My fiancé." Hux would probably understand that more than if he were to simply say 'everything'. "We… We were together for quite a while." Years, in fact. Many years. The longest he had ever been with anyone before.

The ginger felt his heart stop, felt the absence of a beat, a pulse. He felt his world shift for a moment before he shook his head and forced his vision to balance out again. 'Stop it! Stop having so much in common with me! Stop being so similar! Stop making me feel like I could tell you your own story by telling you parts of mine!' Hux wanted to scream at the pilot.

"Adrian Rodriguez..." He repeated the name that Dameron spoke, as if that would give it life again. As if that would make all this better. As if 'Adrian Rodriguez' could somehow replace 'Marcus Abati' in his own mind and everything would be wiped clean. As if a name of a ghost had any meaning to the living that never knew it existed before this point in time. Hux rubbed his hands over his face. 'Come back, he's not here, come back to yourself,' he thought.

"I'm...sorry...for your loss," he grit out each word as he tried to stop the world from spinning. He didn't like to be out of control, didn't like that he could feel everything. The past was the past, so why couldn't he let it go? Why did the pilot's sorrow resonate and harmonize so well with his own? He wanted to run away and hide. Wanted to recollect himself and harden his defenses, again. Instead, the General spoke again. "How did...How did he...What happened?"

"I-I can't…." Poe was certain at this point that he wouldn't even be able to recite the tale of losing Adrian to anyone, even if his life had depended on it. It was just too much of a painful moment to revisit verbally; bad enough that his sleeping, exhausted mind would sometimes force him to go back to the moment he discovered his world had come crashing down, quite literally, and was gone. Many nights afterwards, he would wake up to himself screaming, sweating bullets, then lose himself into a fit of sobs.

Sitting on the edge of the seat, Poe hunched over all the way, as much as he could, and clasped his hands behind his neck. It was a way he was taught years ago to counteract a growing panic attack. About the only thing that proved to work when his emotions started to get the best of him. The pilot let out a trembling breath after a moment, his eyes shutting in pure shame.

"Ask anybody that's been on the base long enough, they'll know… I just, I can't… N-Not right now…." Another trembling breath left Poe's dried lips as an embarrassed hue tinted his cheeks. "Ask Rhys, he could tell you..."

For nearly the first month after Poe had lost his fiancé, Rhys took it upon himself to move into the other pilot's quarters. If it wasn't for him, none of Adrian's stuff would have ever been packed up. Poe wasn't even entirely sure he would still be around if it wasn't for that man. But he would never admit that to anyone. No matter what. Not too long after Rhys had returned to his own living quarters, Poe decided he couldn't stay in that home anymore. Not alone, not without Adrian. So he moved to the one he currently resides in. One much smaller. Much more equipped for just one single male.

Hux heard the tremble in each breath and he shuddered. He knew that feeling - Damn it! He knew it too well - and how it was to not be able to speak or draw a breath. He scratched his arm again and forced his own panic to calm down, forced his own ghosts to stop whispering to him, forced his own mind to stop asking questions about what he should do or could do because he already knew what he would do.

"Breathe, Poe," he murmured, keeping the quiver out of his voice as best he could. "Breathe in." He paused for a few moments. "Breathe out. Again. Breathe in." This was stupid. This was wrong. This was going to get him caught. "Breathe out." He shouldn't care, couldn't let himself get to close, had already done too much. "Breathe in." He needed to get out. Needed to remember the point of him being here. "Breathe out. One more time." He was standing on crumbling cement. "Breathe in." He had already made his decision. Already dug his own grave and rang the bell. "Breathe out." The pilot was too much like him, yet so different, too. Cut from the same cloth and then sewed into different ragdolls.

Before he could really figure out what was going on, Poe had found himself breathing in rhythm to Hux's instructions. There was no fear, no anger, and no embarrassment as he listened to the soothing tone of the other male's voice. Following his lead was rather easy as well, which had Poe questioning why this man had settled for the position of a fighter pilot and not aimed for something much more in depth and honorable in a leader's position. When he realized his breathing had calmed and mellowed, his mind drifting onto the other subject, he let out a terribly long sigh.

The redhead finally turned back to his mentor - this fucking pilot that had somehow scaled his walls and now stood atop them, waiting to overtake Hux completely. This man that had hair like messy ink drops and skin like parchment. Whose eyes told a story of sorrow and pain without ever needing a quill to write a word.

"I won't ask, unless you want to tell," green eyes tracked each breathe - each rise and fall. "I know...I understand...everything. This is your tale to tell. No one else." The General sighed and slowly moved closer to the other man, resting a pale hand on a shaking shoulder. "I know what it's like to not want to talk about the past, for fear that it will bring the pain to the present."

The warmth of the comforting hand brought a sense of calm washing over the pilot. His body still trembled some, but it had significantly calmed down. Hux had been so amazingly understanding. And so… Where was the sass? The snarky remarks and the 'better than you' attitude? Poe almost wished for that man he had met back on the tarmac. It made it so much easier to stay unattached and blissfully numb to it all. But now, with this. With the ginger caring and making a conscious effort to help his aches and woes…?

"Thanks, Hux." Poe's words were spoken with deep sincerity. His voice still wavered and had a bit of a crack to it, but it was much more reminiscent of his normal tone. As he slowly began to sit straight, he kept his gaze lifted and locked on Hux's deep green eyes. "I, uh… I..I'm sorry, I..." What could he possibly say to that? They were supposed to hate each other, not get each other! Not understand the deep sorrows the other had once felt! Poe felt more of his wall crumbing away; an entire portion now lay shattered at their figurative feet.

He fought so hard for the words to speak, sensing Hux had needed some comfort as well. But as his mind pulled him in several different directions, he allowed silence to fall between them as he lifted his hand and covered Hux's with it. Much like he had earlier with the pale hand residing on his knee.

"Look, I know I'm not exactly your best friend. And I get it, I do. I was… For lack of a better word, a dick to you. But, um.. My door is always open if you need someone to talk to."

"Your door at the end of a labyrinth of hallways and behind about three heavily guarded areas? I'll keep that in mind," the ginger retorted, trying to bring back anything that resembled the banter and sarcasm they had once showered one another in. But why try? This man was already inside his head. He had jumped the defenses and now stood knocking at Hux's mental door. The General, meanwhile, was still hiding under proverbial blankets and hoping the stranger would go away.

His pale thumb had started to rub itself back and forth over the pilot's shoulder absently in gentle motions that didn't even register to it's owner. He swallowed, the knocking growing louder. "I...It's a long story." He stated, mental-self peaking out from under the covers and staring at the door. "And not a pretty one." He glanced away from Dameron, breaking away from near-black eyes and intense emotion. Green eyes flickered to the arm that was still at his own side, then focused on some random place on the floor.

Now wasn't the time. Perhaps never would be the time. But definitely not now.

The hand that covered the ginger's was almost too warm and he tightened his grip on the Commander's shoulder before relaxing the hold again, resisting the urge to both pull away and press closer. He needed someone to hold him up at times, it was true. Like when he was alone in his quarters aboard the Finalizer, listening to his own mind replay scenes and screams until an angry Force-user banged on the actual, physical door to his room and yelled at him to shut his head up.

"It's a very long story."


	8. Summer and Winter

'Long story', when it came to Poe at least, almost always meant, 'don't want to discuss it', so he wasn't going to push. Hux had been nothing but understanding and caring about Poe not opening up any further, so he wasn't going to be the asshole to force him into speaking. So instead, he resorted back to what he knew best. At least lately, that is. "I'm sure if you convinced them hard enough, the guards will believe you're worthy enough to waltz back here on your own." Sarcasm. But even as he looked up at Hux, he winked. It just did not seem right to be upset with this man any longer.

Whatever happened between them in front of the others, that wasn't them. Not as they currently were. It was some part inside of them that needed to make a point - some part that desired to be bold and stand out. Poe almost couldn't even recall what alerted him to Hux's presence in the first place. It was a feeling of distrust and resentment. But for what? Had Poe just taken the time to get to know him in the first place...

"I was so hungover…" Oh, great apology. The Rebel commander sighed. "I know that doesn't excuse how I treated you. And I know we already got our kum by yahs out and made the truce. But, there you go. I had no reason to single you out like that, other than the fact that I was pissed off to begin with."

Did that properly clear the air between them? Probably not. Did Poe want to clear the air between them for good? He wasn't sure. Yes and no. Yes, because he felt he finally connected with someone like he had been aching to do for a long while. And no, because he finally connected with someone; something he's been dreading for a long while. Connections ultimately meant heartache when it boiled down to it. Nothing was permanent. That's all he was sure of.

"Well, from what Rico seemed to suggest of your talk to him, I'm rather good at flirting my way into people's lives," a red eyebrow arched as Hux spoke, his gaze flickered back to the pilot and then away again. The knocking at his mental door continued and he swallowed. "But, I'm surprised, Dameron. A hungover Commander on the first day of training? How unprofessional." His tone was teasing, trying to push the conversation in a different direction.

Did that damn recruit not know how to keep his mouth shut? "Should've known he'd go crying to you the second I spoke to him. For the record, I accused him of being the flirt." The pilot wanted to keep a strict tone of jest to his voice, but with the way his cheeks were heating up, a red hue surely staining them, he worried his voice held more worry to it.

Everything the ginger did, no matter how innocent or consoling, just kept going back to a darker square one in his mind. Back to a different picture with two different smiles and two different faces. That image gave way very quickly - blurring around the edges until only one of the two was smiling and the arm that held the other wasn't quite as innocent as it was before. It was a vicious cycle. It always started somewhere else. Always spiraled out of control and then came back to the start.

The General pulled away - the metaphorical door cracking open- and Poe felt a pang of remorse when the warm hand pulled away from his shoulder. It was like a comforting anchor keeping him from diving headfirst into the deep end, and as Hux walked away, he had to hold back a whimpered little sound. 'Keep cool, Dameron,' he scolded himself, clearing his throat to rid himself of that needy sound. The ginger slipped back over to the couch, sitting closer to the Commander, now. His eyes landed on the upside-down picture frame that resided on the table in front of him. He reached for it again, pulling it back toward himself and looking at the image. Pale fingers traced over the lines that made up Adrian, gently outlined the photograph like he could somehow feel the life and bring the man back. He tilted his head, his breathing slowing as he falls into a state of almost-trance before he blinks and lowers the frame so that it rested in his lap.

"I wish I could have met him," Hux murmured. "Wish I had something to say that could make the hurt go away, but that's a silly thought." He finally met Poe's eyes for a fleeting moment. "I wish I could return the favor and tell you everything."

As Hux studied the frame, the dark-haired man felt his heart beginning to race like mad. Adrian's ghost would always be there until he found some way to accept what had happened and move on. But honestly, the pilot had never once considered trying to move on. He'd rather hold onto whatever pathetic glimmer of Adrian still remained, even if it was anguish eating away at his insides and turning his heart into crumbled cement.

"There is no favor to return, Hux…" Poe offered him softly as he stood and sat beside him on the sofa. He reached for the picture frame with nimble fingers and moved it back to the coffee table, keeping the image face down. "I've basically given you a poorly summarized abridged version of one chapter…"

Sitting this close to the other male, Poe's lifted gaze studied the much clearer details on his profile. The bright red hairs shaped over his brow line, some a blond so light they were barely noticeable. There was some stubble, a 5 o'clock shadow trying to appear, perhaps. The shape of his nose wasn't smooth lines and perfect curvature; a sign that it had been broken at least once in his life. There was just the tiniest little bump, just there. Poe's eyes slowly drifted down it, admiring the rounded appearance of the male's lips. But what caught his attention the most was the jade orbs glancing away from him. It reminded him of a planet he had been to, once, that was just coming out of the deep throes of winter. White blanketed the entire area, but some spots began to melt away. And beneath the slush resided a perfect green blade of grass. New life. Hope that the winter harshness was melting away and Spring was around the corner. A resemblance that could bring that hope for warmth to anything, and finding himself gazing deep into the depths of it, Poe saw that hope.

The pilot radiated heat and warmth and, contrastingly, reminded the ginger of a summer day. Ah, and that was a metaphor he was willing to ponder now that the picture was taken away from him. Poe Dameron was a man of extremes - he was either completely ignited and sweltering, or he was gentle and warm, much like the degrees of the sun. Like summer, he was also steady, perhaps not in his moods, but in everything else. When he locked onto something, he was unrelenting. More, and positive, now, he was also very open and bright - he drew people to him and his charm, when he wanted it to be. There was a sadness that lingered on him, much like leaves dying on a tree as autumn neared, but he hid it under sunshine and clear skies. The man was blistering - able to peel away layers of defenses to see inside a person and, once there, he warmed everything he touched.

"But you gave me a summary nonetheless," Hux retorted, and reached over, turning the picture face up before casting his gaze to Dameron. "I know what ghosts feel like. I hear my own when it gets too quiet. And I think about how things were and how they could have been. I constantly argue with myself, flipping and debating between thinking that there was something I could have done...and nothing that would have changed the outcome."

He leaned slightly against the curly haired man. Taking in warmth and in return giving back cool calmness. He debated with himself, even now. "There is so much blame when something goes wrong. So much doubt and self-hatred. So much...reflection about what makes up a life and what makes life worth living." He shrugged. "And that never goes away. Not really."

The General stopped himself from talking, biting down on his bottom lip in an attempt to keep his own thoughts to himself. To keep the man beside him from seeing through his shattered armor - broken and bashed again and again, held together by willpower and used tape. He was coming dangerously close to opening up a part of his own memory that he dared not touch. A part that he had never discussed with anyone. And that, honestly, terrified him more than anything.

"The worst thing you can ever do to yourself is ponder on what could have been. Believe me, I'm the biggest culprit when it comes to that. It turns you into a statue of your former self." His eyes never once strayed away from Hux's face, even as the other male settled more against him. Out of habit, though, his arm lifted and draped across the back of the small loveseat, his fingertips lightly brushing against Hux's shoulder. His gaze slowly dropped to watch the way the red head's mouth sucked in his bottom lip. To see the white teeth clamping down on pink lips, causing the immediate area to darken some.

"Have you ever tried to face those ghosts in the silence?" The pilot asked with genuine curiosity, his voice elevated in pitch some. "Other than going over all the possible different outcomes of whatever happened." He assumed Hux had a lover, like he had. One that meant everything to him. If bringing up Adrian got the recruit's icy exterior to begin to melt away, then Poe could only assume there was a similar past behind him.

And the thought made his heart stutter. Just another reason why Poe was thankful he forced himself to make that truce. The more he got to know of this male, the more he realized how much they had in common. Even if it was nothing positive; ghosts of the same nature, trauma of a lost lover, whatever. It would be nice to have someone to tackle all of that with. Someone that understood the pain behind it all.

Absentmindedly, Poe's fingers began to brush against the ends of red hair, lightly twisting the locks around his fingernail. It was a comfort to him. Something he usually did when deep in thought, upset, or just in need of a little more contact. He didn't realize he had started doing it, or he would have quickly jerked his hand back. The gentle touch at the back of his head both calmed and startled Hux. He wasn't used to softness or any kind of contact that didn't have a motive or a dark edge. He fought down the urge to tense or to jerk away - but just barely. He bit his lip harder for a moment before he let it go, running his tongue over the stinging area before finally attempting to answer Dameron's question.

The simple response was 'yes.' The complicated response was 'in a way.' The truth was a resounding 'no, please, help.' He had fought and screamed and grappled with everything that happened to him, and he always came up empty. He always just felt worse, because there had to have been something he missed. There had to have been a way out. There had to have been something he did or did not do that had made what happened possible and ongoing and...

It always went back to being his fault.

"I never..." He cut himself off, pausing and starting again. "I don't have to face them in my silence. I faced them directly in their own bodies. It is not the dead that haunts me, but the living." Hux stopped. They had come this far, hadn't they? What was the use of cryptic words and half-answers. "My ghosts come in the shape of my father and...and the shape of my ex-fiance." His smile carried no mirth. No joy.

Ah… So there was an ex-lover involved. But the way Hux was carrying himself as he confessed about his father and ex-fiancé didn't bring an ache to Poe's ache that sang about lost love. No, he was quick to catch on to the darkness that stretched the unhappy lips into a smile. Something had gone wrong, seriously wrong. And as much as Poe wanted to pry into Hux's mind to dig deeper and deeper, he knew it wasn't his place to force any information out of him.

"Your father and ex-fiancé?" What could have possibly happened in the past that led to such bitterness etching the male's face when speaking of them? Were they First Order affiliates that were unhappy with him joining the Resistance? Being his parents were Aristocrats, was Hux's ex-fiancé one, too? All of them unhappy that the redhead decided to branch out and seek a life for himself?

The more the pilot contemplated it, the deeper the furrow of his brow became. His fingers never ceased toying with the soft red hair, but, instead, grew a little bit bolder. As his finger twisted, he collected more than just a few strands around his fingernail; he had a decent lock winding around his entire knuckle. But even so, he had no idea that he was even doing it. Now, it seemed to be a subconscious effort to comfort the both of him, not just himself.

"Are they unhappy that you signed up to fight with us?" Curiosity finally got the best of Dameron, so he asked the question softly. Showing he was fully intrigued and willing to listen, but maintaining a tone friendly enough to show Hux genuine care.

The ginger almost laughed at the question, almost broke down completely at the innocence that laced it. Had he actually joined the Resistance when he graduated the Academy, his father would have disowned him completely - and he's not sure if that would have been such of a bad thing so much as it was just a statement of fact. But Hux could never see himself, here. Not in this ragtag group of soldiers that desperately held onto the belief that they could make any kind of difference in the long run. Yes, they won their battles, but this war was too mighty for the thrown-together group, with their makeshift weapons and hand-me-down fighter planes, to ever dream of a victorious outcome.

No, his own past was not as simple as breaking away from his family or going against his lover's wishes. Ex-lover. 'Ex' was important. He's gone now. Well, more, he's no longer directly influencing Hux's life.

"That is...a loaded question, Dameron," he answered instead. Cautious, again, as his mind cleared, thanks to the simple touch in his hair that did not demand anything in return. "I am not...unhappy that I chose to fight. The war has become my home." His head tipped back slightly against the pilot's hand as the General tried to find the best way to explain, while not outright admitting that his loyalties were not what the man believed.

There was a spark of sadness that came from that thought, and the redhead was more than slightly shocked by it. No. Stop it. He was getting in too deep. He needed to harden his heart, to freeze over. But as much as he tried to go back to biting winter and unyielding cold, summer rays kept melting him.

"My father was an asshole," he stated firmly. "My...my ex...he...my father was an asshole," he whispered.

Something just wasn't all there with Hux's response. Sure, he had answered the question Poe had asked him, but it feel oddly incomplete. The last statement more so than anything. The redhead was prepared to speak of his ex, but quickly and almost nervously resorted back to the topic of his father. "I get it, fathers are assholes sometimes."

He wasn't dismissing the other male's statement as a simple 'it happens, get over it', but he was trying to understand his version of it. Was Hux's father stern? Overprotective? Overbearing? There was just too vast of a grouping of the word 'asshole'. Plenty of times, Poe had thought the same of his own father, and the two of them had an otherwise amazing relationship. But fathers just had this way of getting under their children's skin. Was that what Hux had meant by asshole? He was dying to know, but didn't quite know how to approach the topic without sounding too nosy or pushy.

"And… Your ex..?" The shorter man's words trailed off with that one. Poe wanted the other male to know he could talk to him if he needed to, but he fully understood that some ghosts needed to remain unseen and not thought of. A large part of the pilot got the feeling that Hux wanted to open up to him to some extent, but was either afraid or unsure how to. "I'm guessing he was an asshole too..?"

Hux grabbed his own wrist, pulling it protectively against his chest in a way that made him curl forward slightly and out of the reach of the hand that was once playing with his hair. How was he supposed to even start talking about how, no, Marcus was not an asshole – he was so much more than that. He was unredeemable. He was despicable. He was cruel. He was manipulative. He was…he was…

And his father…Where does he start there? The beatings or the verbal degradation? The ginger did not know gentle touches and smiling photographs. He did not know vulnerability without having it taken advantage of. He did not know warmth without a burn. How does he look at the pilot, who had lost his love, and tell him about his past of loveless loss?

Stop. Freeze. Harden. Collect. Control. Calm.

He wasn't supposed to break. Wasn't supposed to be weak. Wasn't supposed to need anyone. Because all of that was dangerous and he was already feeling the thin ice beneath him cracking and turning to slush.

More – voicing the events of his past meant that he could no longer pretend that they had simply been the dark fantasy of an unstable mind. It would be real and that would mean…that would mean he would have to face it.

"Feuch nach cuir sibh mo dhèanamh," Hux mumbled, both to his own mind and to the pilot beside him. "Chan eil iarraidh. Eil sibh ag iarraidh fios a bhith againn."

A heavy frown began to weigh down the corners of Poe's lips once he heard those foreign words being muttered with such defeat. The way Hux had pulled away from him alerted Poe to how close and personal he was getting with the other male, so he swiftly sat back, giving the redhead some obviously much needed space. "I-I'm sorry, I…" It bothered him that Hux had said something in a way he could not understand him. Was it a confession? A declaration of hate or uncomfortableness? He would never know.

Leaning forward, the pilot rested his forearms on his knees and sighed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. Don't feel pressured into telling me anything. Ever. At any point. When you're ready to talk, if you ever get to that point, just know that I am here. One of the worst feelings there is...is feeling like you have no one in your corner rooting for you. Shit can get pretty lonely around here. Just…"

With a sigh, Poe shrugged his shoulders. At this point, he just felt like he was repeating his words over and over. He could say them a million times, but they didn't mean anything to anyone unless Hux actually believed him. And simply repeating them wouldn't do anything to get the redhead to accept what he was offering him.

As he turned his head to the side to glace a wary look to his companion, the Commander noticed the way Hux was cradling his arm. He noticed earlier, as well, that he seemed to favor that part of his body. His brow furrowed, he began to reach out, lightly brushing his fingers against the sleeve. "Are you injured? Your arm, you're holding it like you are. Can I see?" If Hux needed medical attention, he wasn't going to allow his selfish need for company keep him from seeking the appropriate care.

Hux immediately stiffened as the pilot's fingers brushed over his arm. He jerked back and away, standing quickly. "Tha mi duilich. Tha mi duilich," he whispered, trembling. His mind was still stuck somewhere between the past and the present. His body left carelessly too open. He took cautious steps backward.

He was too close. He needed to be closer. He needed to run. He needed to stay. He needed support. He needed to be alone. He needed to-

'General!' A gravelly voice, muffled by distance, and aged and hardened as the creature who it belonged to, shot through his head. It ripped into his mind like blaster fire and he flinched back before turning and bolting out of the pilot's quarters. 'You are trying my patience! I demand a report! Tonight!'

Snoke's presence left him as he walked, eyes to the ground, through winding halls and mostly empty corridors. He picked up the pieces of his mental wall, now shattered and splintered. He imagined a deep frost - a blizzard that was so thick and torrential that no one could see through the white to anything inside of it. Little by little, his back straightened again and his smirk re-adorned his lips. By the time he was back in his shared room, he was quipping and snarking at everyone around him.

He sat on his own bed, Rico plopping down beside him, as they joked about the happenings of the day and the ginger made jokes about the long time he spent with the dark-haired Commander.

"Hux!"

The redhead was out the door before Poe could even process what was going on. He jumped up and began to follow after, but as he stepped out of his quarters, he hesitated and just watched the other male briskly walk away. That right there, watching his retreating form, was a giant slap to the face. It was an iced clench squeezing at his heart. A heavy weight dropping onto his lungs, knocking the breath out of him.

He opened up to him. Perhaps not fully, but he told him things he never should have. Showed him things - Adrian. The picture.

"Erggh! You're a damn fool, Dameron!"

A heavy palm slammed into the corridor wall before Poe swiftly turned and stormed his way inside. He was livid. Anxiety coursed through his veins and pumped heavily into every bit of his body. Trembled hands gripped at his hair, tugging hard enough to pull some strands out. His breathing was so hard, his nostrils flared.

But as darkened eyes glanced to the picture, he felt resentment. What a fucking idiot. Bringing some stranger back, showing him a stupid picture of a dead guy he once loved. He probably looked like a raging lunatic. And the words he said to him… The comfort he offered him.

The pilot could only imagine Hux back in the recruit's quarters, laughing at his expense. Telling them, especially Rico about Adrian. About his past, his heartache. Laughing with them as they mocked his patheticness and his undoubting new status as a damn loser. Hux. The man just sat with, trying to make feel better. Oh, how quickly that changed.

He was reminded too painfully why he disliked the recruit in the first place. All that anger began to resurface. All that resentment they had talked through. Glancing down, he noticed the cup Hux had been drinking out of, and, suddenly, Poe slapped it so hard off the table that it shattered against his wall, staining it with the drink. It was like the glass was now filled with poison.

Poe felt like a complete and utter fool. This was exactly why he didn't allow anyone to get close to him. He gave Hux valuable information he could easily use against him. Maybe that's why Hux couldn't speak of his own past. Because there was none. It was a complete act built up in the ginger's mind to earn sympathy from Poe. To get him to talk more. And that's why, when Poe switched the conversation to him, prodded more and offered him a shoulder to cry on, he left without any explanation.

Pacing around his small living space, the Commander tried to simmer down the boiling anger inside him. He had made a decision. Something he had to do in the morning before meeting with the recruits. It was the only thing he could think of to help him deal with Hux again. The thought had him beginning to calm down to an extent. At least enough for him to find sleep as the night wore on.

Back with the other recruits, Hux had changed into sleep-ware and was lying across his bed, his brunette shadow still perched on his mattress as if he was a gargoyle, sculpted to keep watch over the ginger as he slept. The General chuckled at the romanticized thought. He waited for the majority of his roommates to fall asleep before he sat up.

"What's up, man?" Rico murmured from his place.

"Nothing. Just gonna take a walk. Clear my head a bit before heading to bed," Hux turned so his feet could plant themselves on the ground. He rolled his shoulders and stood, the other man following in suit. "Can I help you?"

"Nah, I just thought that if you were heading out, I should probably vacate the premises. You got a mean right hook. I ain't gettin' on the end of that," the brunette shoved the General's shoulder. "Did Dameron really just want to ask you about Brock?"

Hux nodded. "You know, liability and conflict reports. Regardless of whether that oaf is thrown out or he's transferred, there's paperwork involved."

"I'd hate to be the guy who all the reports go to," Rico whistled.

"That would be the General," the ginger stated simply and turned to take his leave.

He wandered around the base for a long time before sneaking outside into the quiet of the night and the forest that he saw while he was in flight. He made his way into the thick woods, stepping quietly as he ducked and weaved and made sure that he wasn't followed or in any kind of visual range. Once he felt safe, or at least confident, he pulled out a small communicator and raised the microphone.

"General Hux, Mission Report One, Operation Number 51218," he rattled off progress and various facts. Dictating his future plans and his experiences - conveniently leaving out the majority of the past few hours. "Over and out." He finished and made his careful way back into the base, glancing up at the night sky forlornly before ducking back inside and slipping under the scratchy covers of his not-so military grade bed.

He stared at the wall and felt cold. Distant. Alone. Like the starlight that twinkled just above their heads. He curled in on himself and silently wished for warmth, for sunlight, for rays of tender touches and un-pressuring words. He knew that he had lost the right to ask for that - to dream of that - before he ever closed his eyes and fell into a fitful sleep.


	9. A Break

Sleep found the pilot rather easily, but it wasn't a very restful one. Much like what had happened in the past, Poe found himself awakening to the sound of his own screaming. Then seconds later, sobs. He cried until there was not another single tear left in his body and his throat felt raw. But even then sleep did not find him, again. After forcing himself to get up and workout, he showered, feeling much more refreshed. Then, he dressed and took to the corridors with determined steps.

The sun, at this point, hadn't even considered beginning to rise, so the base was eerily quiet, other than those who worked during the night and slept the day away. Even as he approached the General's office, he knew she wouldn't be in there, but that little fact didn't stop him. He helped himself in and took a seat in one of the chairs to begin the long wait for her appearance.

Just as he suspected, he startled her greatly. To the point where she pulled a blaster on him. But once her nerves settled and she scolded him for giving her such a fright so early in the wee hours of the morning, she sat down and allowed him to speak from his heart. He wasn't necessarily asking to completely hand over his recruits for good. Just that he…needed a break. The Commander, with great shame, admitted he wasn't entirely in the proper mindset. He knew he wasn't able to give the recruits the proper training that they deserved.

"Day one, I was late…and hungover. I challenged Hu-a recruit. Day two, well, you saw what happened…"

Leia listened to him without saying a word, allowing him to plead his case, though she had already known the answer she was going to give him. "One of our contacts have secured a hefty bundle of supplies. I need someone I can trust to go retrieve it."

Poe nearly jumped at the opportunity. Not only would it give him the desperately needed time to himself, but he would get to put one of his biggest loves to use; flying. He'd be lightyears away from Hux and the other recruits. It was a win-win situation. So he thought.

By the time Poe finally made it out onto the tarmac, he was accompanied by Leia and was decked out, head to toe, in full flight gear. Rhys saw them approaching and cut them off halfway; it wasn't the attire one would use while simply training the other pilots. Their words didn't reach the group waiting for Poe's arrival, but the look of disappointment flashing across Rhys face surely did. Poe pulled him in briefly for a one armed hug, then continued to walk towards the tarmac, not even bothering to look up at his team as he passed.

Leia followed behind, but stopped when she reached the group, being the one to have to break the news to them that Rhys would be taking over their lessons for the time being.

Jade eyes tracked Dameron's hasty retreat to his custom X-Wing from the group of trainees. Hux turned his attention to General Organa, who delivered swift and vague information of their Commander's sudden mission. Her brown eyes never left him, as if her entire speech was being given to the ginger and not a group of recruits. Rhys stepped up afterward, energetic and practically bouncing. He gestured for the students to follow him.

"Hux," Organa's voice rang out just as the undercover General started to walk away. "Stay back for a moment."

'How many Rebels am I going to have to be scolded by before everyone just leaves me alone?' he thought as everyone moved around him and trailed after their substitute. He watched as their true mentor's ship shot away from the base and into the almost cliche, cloudy day.

"I'm not going to shake my finger at you, I just want to talk," the woman stated at his silence. "I will never understand how you were brave enough to break away from the First Order, but I'm grateful to have you here."

Hux's attention snapped to her, taking in each detail he could file away. Warm brown eyes held a flame of defiance and a hard edge that came from years of being at war and having to call hard decisions. Wrinkles around her eyes from smiling. A hard line to her lips from demanding respect and giving orders. An openness to her that made her feel as though she was everyone's mother as well as everyone's boss. She did not dress in uniform - simple pants, an undershirt, and a vest, instead adorned her sturdy body.

"Thank you, General Organa."

Her eyes softened after he spoke. "You've caught the eye of my best pilot, as I'm sure you know. You stood out to him and that may have made things hard for you, and I apologize for that." She paused. "But I think that if you two could only put aside your differences, you would be able to see just how similar you are."

Hux turned his gaze away, "Two sides of a coin, Ma'am?"

"Not even that different," Organa smiled. "You remind me of someone I once knew. A man who was unbreakable and quick-witted. A man who never liked to know the odds, but always calculated them in his head. He rubbed a lot of people the wrong way, until you got to know him." Her eyes drifted over him and Hux could feel his skin crawl. What did she see? What could she know from just looking at him with eyes that reminded him of someone else? How deep into his mind could she pry? "You're a good man, Hux. I know it. You were dealt a bad hand, but you'll never fold." She gestured to the sky. "And neither will he. Try to get along, won't you? Get to know one another? You may be surprised at what you find."

She dismissed him after that, but, instead of joining the recruits, the ginger turned on his heal and left the hangar completely.

The thrill of the travel greatly surpassed any negative emotion building within Poe's body. He wasn't necessarily in a rush to accomplish the mission, so the pilot made no effort to speed things along. Imagining it to be like taking a relaxing road trip, minus all the traffic, where a person could either take the freeway and cut their travel time in half, if not more, or take the scenic route and enjoy their time away. That's exactly what Poe was doing. Had Leia said it was crucial for him to arrive as soon as he possibly could, perhaps he would have made a greater effort.

As he navigated through the stars, the pilot's mind kept drifting right on back to Hux. He struggled to keep any ill thoughts from reaching his head, but he just could not put to rest the idea that Hux had been lying to him during that entire moment they shared in his quarters. Even with all the emotions simmered down and no longer as intense, the Commander still felt like a foolish jerk for opening up to him.

It bothered him to picture what it would be like when he returned to his training duties. Would his recruits look at him in a completely different way? He couldn't fathom that Hux wouldn't tell them about his problems. It drew an annoyed sigh from the pilot's lips. One thing he did know for a fact, through it all, was that Hux was wrong about when their truce would break. It wouldn't be upon his return…No…the ginger broke their truce the moment he fled through Poe's doors.

The version of Hux that stalked the Resistance halls was not a man pretending to be a recruit, but a First Order General who wanted blood. He had given up his icy calm to take up crackling lightening that immediately had people stepping out of his way. He didn't need to be reminded of his failure to stay isolated. He didn't need to think about just how close he had been to opening up so fully to Dameron that he might as well have held up his wrists for the prisoner cuffs to be placed around them. He hid away for the rest of the day, tucked into a small corner of the base - some little nook he found as he wandered around in circles.

He was dangerously lost. Not physically, although he had taken quite a few random twists and turns. No, it wasn't that. He hated to admit it, hated that it was the truth, but Hux had no idea what to do, anymore. The mission was slow, but he had obtained more information as he continued to talk and network. No, it wasn't that. He was...tired. Even a brief glimpse of safety and support led him to both wanting more and being afraid of his own sense of security around a man who he was supposed to hate.

He wasn't stupid. He knew that the rebels were just as human as he was, but it was easy to demonize an opposing army when he never saw them in combat. It was easy to see them as nothing more than agents of chaos in a galaxy in which he was trying to bring order. He curled into a tight ball, resting his chin on his knees. He wanted a confidante, but he drove the only person who had ever cared away. But could he really be blamed for that? Yes. Of course he could. It always came back to being his fault.

The ginger heard footsteps approach and he swallowed down his conflicting emotions. "What happened to Adrian?" He asked as soon as Rhys was close enough to hear.

If there was one question that Rhys was fully unprepared to answer, it was that exact one. It had his steps faltering for a brief moment, confusion etching his appearance. "Well, good evening to you too." He sassed as he stood in front of the balled up recruit, glaring down at him. "I'm going to take offense next time I'm awarded custody of your group and you bail first second you get. C'mon, I can't be that much worse than Dameron, can I?"

A chuckle rumbled deep in the rotund belly of the portly man, but Rhys made no effort to move any closer to him or move down to his level. "Adrian, ah…" Remembering the sudden question fired at him as he approached, the amused smile faded and Rhys nodded. "Adrian. I'm assuming you know who he was to Poe?" Of course he had to know. Adrian's tale wasn't one that was so freely tossed around from one cadet to the next.

"We all thought Poe was going to remain the Resistance's poster boy until the Resistance died. Until Adrian came along. And Poe nearly lost it," the heavier set man chuckled fondly at the memories. "He sure gave Poe a run for his money, I'll tell you that. It's what attracted him to Adrian in the first place. This rivalry. Kind of reminds me of…"

Glancing at Hux, Rhys cleared his throat and decided to let that thought end there. Last thing he needed was to start any new rumors or ideas that didn't need to be started. "Adrian just had this gold heart. I don't think I've ever seen him mad. Not that I'd want to, either. Fiery guy, he was." Much like his original comparison. "Once they got together, everyone knew it would last. You probably wouldn't have recognized Poe back then. We're talking permanent creases by his eyes from smiling and laughing so much. But…As I'm sure you could guess, tragedy struck. It, uh… Geez, how long was it. It wasn't too long after they announced their engagement. Adrian, he…"

Rhys stopped for a moment to clear his throat. Adrian's death affected everyone, not just Poe. "It was a training flight, actually. I was in the hangar when it happened. Didn't see it, but from what others have said, Adrian went up and something malfunctioned. The explosion was so loud. Deafening, like a bomb had dropped. I don't know what Poe was doing at the time, but no one dared go find him and break the news. It was chaos. We tried so hard to extinguish the flames. They, Poe and Adrian, had this little thing, like a date thing, where Poe would always meet him for lunch after a training flight. I'm sure you can imagine how it went once Poe returned to meet Adrian for lunch."

Hux pulled himself tighter once Rhys grew quiet. He processed the story bit by bit - dissecting each word, each inflection, and studying it, taking it apart, and putting it back together again. He nodded slowly as he pulled away the extra details to keep only what he wanted to know - a flight gone wrong, one minute there and the next...nothing. No one told Poe, immediately. He found out over what was supposed to be a happy meeting.

The ginger's lips curled into a snarl, his body rippling and tensing in a way that was far from confusion and fear and much closer to rage and intent. It felt wrong for him to hear this all from a second party, but he needed to know. Needed to see what was hiding behind worn pictures in cracked frames. He slowly unwrapped his arms from around himself and rolled into a stand. Engaged one day, separated by death soon after. Two smiling faces full of love and joy and every-fucking-thing that should make up a relationship. 'Once they got together, everyone knew it would last.'

"Don't say it kind of reminds you of he and I," the General's voice was low, calm, but when he turned his silver-green gaze toward the rebel pilot (pale, stout, wrong color eyes, wrong hair, wrong pilot) they were lit with cruel anger. "Don't suggest it. Don't think it."

"Hux-"

"Don't. Commander. Don't." The ginger watched as Rhys struggled to stay in place. The man was no doubt trained well and could hold his own in a fight of strength, but Hux was used to breaking people down and forcing them to bow to him on a much deeper level. The pilot finally found his spine and military training and met the cold stare directly.

"Look, you asked, Red. You wanted to know."

"And now I do. Thank you, Sir. I apologize for leaving. If you don't mind, I'm rather tired and-"

"Don't give me that banthashit," Rhys cut him off. "You might be able to dick around with Poe while you're out there with all the other recruits, but don't even try to jerk my chain. What I just told you - that goes no where. You got that? Poe trusted you enough to talk to you, at least a little, about it. Don't fuck that up."

"Agreed," Hux stated easily, stepping around the portly man. "Goodnight."

Three days… That was all Poe could allow himself to be gone. But those three days, he had put to good use. As he began the descent down onto the tarmac, the pilot felt the tension slowly building back up inside of him. Rhys was further down with the group, who now all seemed to focus on him. Like a bunch of little kids who had never seen a X-Wing landing before in their lives. A few men had rushed out, readying a sturdier ladder against the side of the starfighter as Poe stood up and removed his helmet.

Without even meaning to, his eyes began to dart around at all the bodies, finding himself searching for one in particular. But the second his gaze even neared Hux, he hardened his features and looked away. No. There was no one there to care that he made it back alive. No one to greet him and admit to them missing his presence. And there never would be.

"You'll find the supplies in the back compartment. Tell General Organa the contact got attacked and we lost over half the stock before I even got there. She won't be happy, but we got what we could. There's medicine that needs to reach the Medical Bay immediately, and a great deal of rations to bring to storage."

Finally deciding to descend the stairs, Poe allowed the other men to jump into action, forming a sort of assembly line up the ladder to handle all the product that had been brought back with him. Rhys had begun jogging across the landing to get to him, but the Rebel pilot was in no mood to talk about anything that had happened before he decided to abandon his current responsibilities to take on the small mission. So he lifted a hand, dismissing him as he began walking in the opposite direction.

"Poe! Poe, wait!"

Poe's steps only quickened. He needed solitude once more. Already aching to be back in his craft and far away from any other living souls. He knew what Rhys wanted to verify; to see if Poe had indulged into another deep, dark secret that a very select few knew about. Which only pissed him off even more. He didn't need a babysitter. He didn't need anybody breathing down his back; if he wanted to screw his life up, it was his choice to do so. Regardless of what anybody else said.

Green eyes tracked the returning and retreating pilot. Rhys was concerned, that much was obvious by how he had trailed off in the middle of his sentence to lumber over to his friend. When he was dismissed almost immediately and that made Hux cock his head. Rico's arm dropped to it's normal place around the ginger's shoulders.

"Boss is back, huh?" The brunette hummed. "I bet you're just overjoyed."

Hux shrugged as much as he could with the weight of his companion's arm on him. "Back and, yet, not here." He watched the portly Commander slump as Dameron walked away from him and out of the hangar. "Ever isolated."

"Man, who would want that? Maybe the mission didn't go well," Rico guessed, but the ginger gestured over to the assembly of people to reject the claim. "That doesn't mean it went perfectly. I mean, honestly, when do missions go smoothly?"

"Never."

"Exactly. Something probably blew up in his face, ya know?"

The General clenched his jaw at the wording as Rhys turned to slowly walk back over to the recruits. "Take notes for me," he stated to Rico and then started to approach their substitute.

"Are you really going to leave class, again? Red, you gotta know that -"

"I'm going after him, Sir. You are welcome to stop me, but, honestly, I don't think you will," Hux stared down the stocky man. Predictably, he slowly nodded and stepped aside.

"Hey," the Commander took him by the arm as the General tried to pass him. "You don't get another chance, you got that?"

The ginger shrugged him off and briskly walked across the hangar, speeding up his strides until he was close enough to clearly make out Dameron's curls and quick gait. He moved as fast as he could without breaking into a jog, twisting and ducking around people in an effort to not slow down. "Poe!"

The pilot's tense shoulders were just beginning to relax when suddenly he heard a voice. His voice. Then almost instantly, his entire postured tensed right back up. He didn't realize that his steps had slowed down some, but as he ignored the call of his name, he continued walking. If he wasn't in the proper mindset to handle Rhys, his closest friend, at the moment, then surely dealing with Hux was a huge problem just waiting to boil over.

So…He did what any mature, professional adult would do in a situation like this.

"I can't hear you!"

His steps quickened once more, swiftly maneuvering around the crew briskly unloading the supplies and running certain ones back and forth. With the end of the hangar in sight, Poe damn near started jogging, slipping through the doors right as they slid shut from someone else's exit. He took the brief opportunity to be out of Hux's direct line of sight to start running, full speed, until he could abruptly turn a corner beginning another long corridor.

Thinking he was safe and out of anyone's radius, he let out a deep, heavy breath and leaned back into a wall. His face buried behind dirty palms as he forced himself to take a few calming breathers. Returning was a mistake. He told himself that every time he left the Resistance base to do anything. 'Just go, Dameron. Leave. They'll think you died. Got kidnapped. Whatever. Just go away for a while.' But the proper little fighter soldier in him forced him to return each and every time.

Meanwhile, Hux hit the door as it closed just barely before he could reach it. He didn't wait for it to fully open, again, instead deciding to slip through it as soon as his slender body could. He looked both ways down the hall, but the pilot was gone.

"I see you're back to acting like an adult," the ginger grumbled. 'Okay, focus,' he told himself. He didn't know where the Commander had gone, but he knew where he would eventually end up. The General recalled a mental map of the part of the base he had wandered about in, pinpointing where Dameron's room was and turning on his heel to go in that direction.

He didn't even know what he wanted to say to the pilot. Didn't know why he was so bent on finding him and even trying to reopen conversation with him, but, still, he wanted to. And that should really give him pause because wasn't it against everything he stood for? Shouldn't he not care? This wasn't advancing the mission. This was a personal deterrent getting in the way of his focus.

But he wanted to. So he would.

Hux had just gotten lost - turned around in the maze of halls and rooms and storage areas, when he turned to find the man he was searching for huddled against a wall. "Hey," he said quietly, approaching slowly, cautiously. The man looked less angry and much more...conflicted. "Commander Dameron, I...Are you alright?"

"Por el amor de..." Poe felt his blood flash to cold the moment he heard the first syllable of Hux's voice. He growled, standing straight, and getting himself a good, decent look at him. The anger softened briefly as he fought through that emotional connection they had established, but then Hux's previous, sudden disappearance flashed back into his mind and he scowled. "No estas permitido… Perdon."

He knew his emotions were swiftly raging out of control; anger, fear, confusion, hope, longing, despair, hurt… Just to name a few. But he sighed and swallowed hard, focusing his mind to think properly and form a coherent, Basic thought.

"You don't get to care," he finally spat out, pointing directly at Hux's face. "You don't get to just storm out like that without a fucking farewell oranything, then expect to be able to care later. No, it don't work like that, Hux. So, just turn around and walk off, like you seem to be so damn good at doing. Because I'm not buying your bullshit anymore."

Clean cut. Don't beat around the bush, don't give in to the tempting desires. Just end it.

The ginger visibly flinched at the words thrown his way. He knew that, knew he deserved nothing less that cold rejection and harsh emotions. But that didn't make sense. He didn't leave the other night because he was running from Dameron, he left because he was running from himself. He had started to fall apart until Snoke had stabbed into his mind and demanded his attention.

Hux didn't argue, he didn't need to. The pilot was so far passed irritation and anger. And he had a right to be, if he thought that the General left because of something that happened between them. He glanced away for a long time, trying to decide what to say, trying to find a new angle, a new strategy that would lead to a better outcome, but people were not the same as battles. People didn't have formulas that made them easy to solve. Jade eyes dropped to the floor, then flickered back up to the seething commander. Where does one start when there's nothing left to say?

"Tha mi duilich," he repeated the words from the night before. "Tha mi duilich...means 'I'm sorry'." He looked away again. "Rhys told me...everything. Or, rather, he told me what happened, but I think there's a lot between that and 'everything'. And..." Hux stopped himself from rambling anymore. "Tha mi duilich." He hesitated. What the pilot needed was a show of good faith. He brought his left arm up, sighed, and dropped it. "You asked me about my arm. I don't...need medical attention, but am willing to let you look at it. If you want. I think I do."

No, it… It wasn't supposed to be like that. Poe was fully prepared for Hux to do as he barked at him to do: just turn and leave. But for Hux to stay. Apologize? And Rhys, he asked Rhys? The thought of Hux knowing even more about Adrian made his heart begin to race like mad. So Hux knew more and came to seek him about it. But was it out of pity? Did the redhead truly feel like Poe was pathetic enough at this point to need friendship? A companion? A buddy-ole-pal?

"I don't need a pity party," he growled, but his smoldering dark eyes flicked down to the wrist that was briefly held out for him to see. Truth be told, he was deeply curious as to what the deal with the arm was. But if it wasn't an injury… A tattoo? But why would that bother him. New, perhaps? Maybe he went out with his stupid little recruit friends -cough, Rico- and it was bothering him? New ink did tend to itch and burn sometimes… No, that was too dumb of an idea to even pondering any longer.

So, a slow, unsure hand slowly reached out and he brushed his fingertips against the smaller wrist once more. It was the action that had Hux bolting so anxiously the night before. Worse came to worse, Poe would get that privacy he so desperately sought.

Hux inhaled sharply when Dameron's fingers grazed over his sleeve. He swallowed around his want to run, to flee the alien touch and hide away so no one else could ever get that close again. But he forced himself to remain mostly steady. His wrist did flinch away from the pilot's hand, and there was nothing he could do to stop that.

"I'm not offering you pity," the ginger stated. "I'm not offering you anything. I'm telling you what happened while you were gone - reporting to you as a simple soldier should to their superior officers." He paused as another Rebel passed by the corner they occupied. "I'm not offering you anything," he repeated. "I'm just giving it to you."

It was a subtle difference, but one that was nonetheless there. The General found that the galaxy worked in subtle shifts. Bare separations and slight alterations. The art of war was mastered in details. This was no different, but, for some reason, the stakes felt higher.

"Not here," Hux requested. "Someplace private."


End file.
